Author's Note: Hi everyone, been a while. I know I seem to write a lot of humor stuff, but lately it feels so heavy, I guess I'm just drawn more to humor to lighten the mood. This one just came to me as I thought of a friend and her favorite thing to do.
Dean scowled darkly down at the board and chips in front of him, grumbling for the dozenth time about their luck - or lack thereof. "Still can't believe this. A freaking haunted bingo parlor?"
Sam rolled his eyes and shot a frown Dean's way. There was only so much grouchy Dean he could take, besides he couldn't pay attention to the numbers over his brother's complaining. He daubed his card as he reminded, "A favor is a favor, besides it's a real case man. We just have to deal until later, the ghost will show up, we figure out who it is and do the usual. It's one of the easiest jobs we've ever had."
"Easy?" Dean whispered furiously. "It's boring Sam! And humiliating! Bunch of blue hairs and old guys with comb overs."
One of said old ladies overheard and glared at him. Dean stared her down mulishly and she contorted her face as if she'd stepped in something nasty. Dean's face took on a look of shocked affront and Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Dean lowered his voice and continued. "All I'm saying is why couldn't Bobby handle this one? He's old, he'd fit in better than us." Bobby's elderly aunt Irene, an avid bingo goer, had alerted him to odd occurrences at the local bingo groups. Bobby was tied up and had called the boys to ask for help. So here they were. Sometimes loyalty sucked.
Sam did snort now. "Better not let him hear you say that."
His brother ignored him and went on. "But he gets wind and passes it off to us. And these tip cards suck. What the hell, man?" Dean threw another loser on the pile. Guaranteed fifty dollar winner in each round his ass.
That Dean could still sound so incredulous about the hunt even after all the research and evidence it was a real case made Sam want to laugh even harder. He supposed it did seem a bit surreal. Being stuck in a room playing bingo with the elderly sounded like one of his worst nightmares the way Dean told it.
"Look, I get it. But Bobby asked us to do this for him and we agreed. We have to finish this out, but we don't have to be miserable. Try and enjoy yourself, helps kill time."
Dean's eyes widened. "Enjoy myself? Are you joking? This is not the type of hustling I like. Give me poker or pool any day, but bingo?" Dean's face resembled his blue haired adversary across the table.
"The deaths are no joke, Dean."
The elder Winchester's face became drawn, but his silence was his concession. There had been some unusual deaths among the elderly in town and as crazy as it seemed, bingo was the one connection they all shared.
Each one had died after playing bingo at the B-4 Bingo House. The police had missed the pattern because of course they're all older. Natural causes, it's only expected. But on their digging they noticed not all of it added up. While each one had health issues, they shouldn't have died in the manner they did.
Peter Faber's high cholesterol didn't cause his heart attack, the blockage wasn't that severe and he'd been on medication that his wife said he took religiously. Emma Duthery supposedly fell down the stairs, bad hip and all. Only the way she landed suggested she'd not been that far up the staircase. How had she sustained all those injuries? It was the same with the other two victims.
"You would like bingo. Pansy."
Sam hung his head and let out a whoosh of air. He should've known... "Dude -"
"Yeah, yeah." He cut him off. "Have fun." Dean shook his head. So what if they won anyway? What did they give as prizes in these places, gift cards to AC Moore?
"G-17" The announcer called in his monotone. Was this guy trying to put them to sleep or what?
"Dean." Sam said excitedly next to him. "G-17"
"So?" He failed to see why his little brother was near bouncing in his seat.
"Look." Sam leaned forward and placed his finger on Dean's card. G-17 finished out the line. He'd won.
"Oh." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable.
"Well, go on." Sam prodded.
He sighed. He really hated this. "Um..." Reluctantly, he called out, "Bingo."
The announcer stopped and waited while the floor worker checked over his card. The woman read them off and he nodded. "Good bingo."
Dean swallowed as he saw just what he hadn't wanted. Every person in the room was looking at him. In fact...huh. They were all scowling at him. "What gives?" He asked out of the corner of his mouth. Sam shook his head. He had no idea, but they did all appear disgruntled.
"Come on up and claim your prize." The man motioned to the stage.
Ah crap. Feet dragging, Dean worked his way past the loaded tables up front. Bad enough he'd been singled out, now he'd be up front while everyone watched him get some lame prize. Please hurry up so I can sit back down.
The man grinned and asked for his name and information. Dean supplied his fake credentials and was handed a wad of cash. What? "You're tonight's large pot winner. $5,000."
Dean's jaw nearly hit the floor. "$5,000 bucks?"
The announcer nodded. "Well, minus taxes it's slightly less, but a nice take just the same."
Dean numbly nodded his agreement and headed back to his seat. Sam was also in awe. "Holy crap, dude."
"I know." They both looked at the money as if it might vanish. Then slowly Dean smiled. "I take it back." He crowed. "I love bingo!"
Sam laughed and they resumed the game.
It was forty five minutes later when the half hour break was called. The room cleared fast as everyone left the room for food, drinks or the restrooms. Dean stood and stretched. "Wow. Place cleared out fast."
Sam stood up and twisted the kink from his back. "Yeah. Wanna go get something to eat?"
"Sure. I'm starving." He smiled and waved his cash. "I'll buy."
Suddenly something hit him in the side of the head. Hard. "Ow. What the -" Looking down they saw a bingo ball roll and fall off the table. They had time to share a look and then balls were shooting out and flying everywhere. Uhoh.
Dropping under the table, they flipped it on it's side to deflect the projectiles, which sounded like hail bouncing off the place. "Crap! What happened to waiting till after closing?" Dean shouted over the din.
"I guess we pissed it off." Sam yelled back.
Finally after what felt like an eternity, the balls stopped. Dean had a hand in his duffel, Sam already held his shotgun. Both froze and waited. All seemed quiet. Moments passed. "You think -" Sam's question was cut off when a chair hit him in the back. "Agh!"
"Sam!" Dean moved to help only to be sidelined from the left by another chair. "Sonofa-"
"Drop!" Sam called as another chair sailed over their heads. Bingo cards came fluttering at them like birds and chips and daubers rained down.
"This is nuts!" Dean shouted. "See anything?" It was hard to see in all the chaos.
"No. You?" Dean was about to answer no when a figure materialized in front of the table in the corner. By the look of her, she was pissed.
"I only needed I 48!" She shouted and threw more chairs their way.
They dodged and ran to get closer to her. Dean lined up a shot. "Unbelievable. I hate sore losers!" He yelled as he fired. The woman growled in rage and disappeared. All the flying articles in the room dropped.
"See anything?" Sam asked.
"What is going on in here?" The raised voice of the floor worker demanded. She and several patrons stood wide eyed in the doorway.
Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at her. "Earthquake?" They suggested in unison.
Spinning on her heel, she ran to get the owner. The patrons also departed to tell their friends about the scene before them.
"Time to go." Dean announced matter of factly.
"Yeah." Sam deadpanned.
Both men grabbed their gear and high tailed it out of there. The hunt wasn't over and they had more research to do. A call to Bobby's great aunt confirmed their suspicions. Table two had been the regular spot occupied by Mae Flowers. "Cute name." Dean quipped sarcastically.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Focus Dean. So Irene said Mae died three weeks ago."
"Around the time the deaths started."
"Right. Irene said she was a regular at that spot for fifteen years. Same chair, always at the end corner. She was very competitive and hated to lose."
"So she's haunting the place because she wants to keep playing? And taking revenge on the people who deprive her of the big win?"
"Looks like it. And," Sam turned the laptop to his brother so he could see the report. "She was cremated."
Dean ran a hand through his hair. "So she's connected to the building."
"More specifically, to her favorite table and chair."
Dean nodded. "So, salt and burn?"
"Should do it. It's likely she's bound to the furniture."
Dean flicked his lighter and stuffed it in his pocket. "Let's go."
Getting back inside was easy enough. Even a place like this had basic security apparently. Slipping in they made their way back to Room A. Flashlights wouldn't work for this, they'd have to flip on the overheads and hope no one noticed. They'd 'borrowed' an old clunker to transport the items to somewhere safe to burn. The parking lot was too open and close, they'd been seen.
They'd just folded down the table, it appeared no one had cleaned up after the incident unless Casper had thrown another tantrum, when the room grew cold. "Ah hell. Should've known it wouldn't be this easy."
Dean was reaching for his gun when he caught a dauber to the forehead. The technicolor bottles flew around them, getting both men, but mostly Dean. They decided to run for it, table between them, and throw it in the truck. Making a break out the door, they yanked down the tailgate. "Get it loaded. I'll go back for the chair."
"You sure?" Sam asked, but already doing as told.
"Be right out." Dean assured him. And a few moments later he was, swaring but thankfully unhurt. Under the cover of pitch dark, they drove a short distance to an abandoned warehouse district and made a bonfire.
"Rest in peace, you old bat." Dean muttered, throwing in the final piece of wood.
Beside him, Sam suddenly burst into a fit of laughter so hard he held his stomach. Dean quirked a brow. His brother had lost it. "What?"
Sam, unable to speak, raised a hand and pointed at his face, gesturing for Dean to look at himself. Finally finding his breath, his eyes crinkled merrily as he answered. "You should see your face. You look like a rainbow leopard."
Both brows shot up as he strode toward his bag and got his flashlight. Turning it on he eyed himself in the reflection of the broken window glass of a warehouse. "Sonofabitch." He bit out. Sam was right. He looked like a cartoon reject, bright spots of neon green, pink, yellow, blue and red dotted his body and clothes. "Freaking daubers."
Sam started cackling again and Dean swung the light scowling in his direction only to break into a wide grin. Sam had a sinking feeling. "What?"
"Not a thing, Rainbow Brite." Dean chuckled and Sam groaned. Walking over he looked in the glass and saw he was just as colorful as his brother. It was even in his ear.
"I hope this washes off."
"You and me both, Sammy." Just not before I sneak a picture of you on my cell.
Sam secretly was thinking the same thing.
This resulted in Bobby getting two photos in his email a few days later and laughing so hard he cried. He clicked the mouse and the pictures began printing. Oh yeah, these were going in the album.