Categories > TV > Supernatural
Sam Winchester looked up through the pipe, as he laid, half under the kitchen cabinet and half on the floor. He shone a light through the pipe and apparently light makes water flow, cascading down, it splashed his face. Lightning flashed from outside, a purple-white snarl of electricity. “Oh!”
Dean sat in a dining room chair and chortled as his baby brother came out from under the sink, wiping away the traces of water. Sam’s wife strolled in, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “Thanks for getting the ring back, baby,” she said. Her lovely little voice was no more than a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night.
Sam still couldn’t believe that Dean was too afraid to do what he had been doing. He told Sam that it was the shadows and the smell. Yeah right. It was the hard work. “Yeah, yeah, uh, no problem, darling,” said Sam coming out from under the sink, away from the shadows and the musty smell.
Sam smelled sweaty and like drain cleaner. She giggled and hopped onto the table. “How does a girl let her own wedding ring fall down the drain?” muttered Dean, who sat on the chair that was turned around so Dean could face Sam over the back. Dean smirked and smoothed the shadow of stubble that started to form.
Sam and Sage Winchester ignored him. “I promise to learn to how to wash the dishes better,” said Sam. “Maybe Dean can teach me. He was a family man once.”
“Can we call for take out?” snapped Dean. “Chinese. Pizza.” Rain driven by a sudden strong gust of wind, slatted against the window.
Dean took a pull from the neck of his beer. If Dean kept this up, his gut would turn into a washtub. “I think our baby boy is hungry,” joked Sam. There was mild wonder on his voice. Sam and Sage wanted a baby.
Sage pulled the window curtains and closed out the night. “Pizza sounds good, I could go for a salad,” hummed Sage. Taking a whiff of the cloves she had potted on the windowsill.
“Pizza it is.”
The doorbell shrieked. “Holy shit, that was fast!” laughed Sage. She tried to keep her voice light despite the sudden shock the doorbell brought with it. Sage snickered bitterly.
Sam answered the door. No one stood there waiting; only a box sat on the welcome mat. The air was so crisp and cold that it was like biting into an ice cream cone. A box that was wrapped in black paper and twine. On a little white card, it said Sam Winchester in a neat little scrawl.
“Who was it?” asked Sage as Sam heaved the box into the home.
Sam shrugged. The air suddenly felt cold. “I don’t know,” he said, looking down at the box. His heart hammered in this throat. “It doesn’t even say where it’s from.”
Sam’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Well, there’s one way to find out,” giggled Sage. Her and Sam tore at the black paper and twine, revealing a black box underneath. Sam opened the box and Dean gasped. Laying in a velvet mold was a dummy. “Oh, Sammy, you adopted us a baby!”
“A baby? What is that thing?” asked Sam, his eyes blazing in confusion, watching as Dean picked up the dummy.
Sage giggled, holding her hands over the dummy and making spooky noises. “Who would send you a dummy?” asked Dean, his breath smelled of burritos and refried beans.
Sam looked in the vacant yet dark expression painted onto the dummy’s eyes. “I have no idea!” The dummy smelled funky, like wet clay.
“Whoever did, has great taste in gifts!” gushed Sage. Her voice had a little Southern glide to it. “I’m jealous! I mean look at the craftsmanship!” She had come from the deep countryside where men were apt to handle snakes on Sunday morning.
Dean shoved the dummy in Sam’s face. The storm front had passed, only a thin, gray drizzle was falling. “I don’t know about you, but Dean is hungry for pizza!”
“I think my brother’s gone crazy.”
“That dummy reminds me of a poem from when I was a child,” said Sage.
Sam drew his fingers across his brow and pinched them together. “What poem?”
Sage’s breath caught in her throat. “It was about an old woman who had all these dolls. It was an old ghost story,” said Sage. She had always been too imaginative for her own good. “Beware the stare of Mary Shaw. She had no children, only dolls.”
Dean looked around the doll-cluttered room. Sage collected dolls. “Beware the stare of Sage Winchester. Sam gave her no children, but she had dolls!” The night wind tore at the house.
“That rhymed terribly, Dean.”
“Find a spot and put him away, he’s kinda creepy,” said Sam. He was a hunter, yet the doll scared him so bad that it felt like his balls were turning into Welch’s grape jelly.
Sage took the dummy from Dean. “Oh, baby, I won’t let the scary dummy hurt you,” said Sage. The wind howled, sounding like the wail of a creature long since dead. She sat the dummy on the couch.
Dean sat in a dining room chair and chortled as his baby brother came out from under the sink, wiping away the traces of water. Sam’s wife strolled in, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “Thanks for getting the ring back, baby,” she said. Her lovely little voice was no more than a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night.
Sam still couldn’t believe that Dean was too afraid to do what he had been doing. He told Sam that it was the shadows and the smell. Yeah right. It was the hard work. “Yeah, yeah, uh, no problem, darling,” said Sam coming out from under the sink, away from the shadows and the musty smell.
Sam smelled sweaty and like drain cleaner. She giggled and hopped onto the table. “How does a girl let her own wedding ring fall down the drain?” muttered Dean, who sat on the chair that was turned around so Dean could face Sam over the back. Dean smirked and smoothed the shadow of stubble that started to form.
Sam and Sage Winchester ignored him. “I promise to learn to how to wash the dishes better,” said Sam. “Maybe Dean can teach me. He was a family man once.”
“Can we call for take out?” snapped Dean. “Chinese. Pizza.” Rain driven by a sudden strong gust of wind, slatted against the window.
Dean took a pull from the neck of his beer. If Dean kept this up, his gut would turn into a washtub. “I think our baby boy is hungry,” joked Sam. There was mild wonder on his voice. Sam and Sage wanted a baby.
Sage pulled the window curtains and closed out the night. “Pizza sounds good, I could go for a salad,” hummed Sage. Taking a whiff of the cloves she had potted on the windowsill.
“Pizza it is.”
The doorbell shrieked. “Holy shit, that was fast!” laughed Sage. She tried to keep her voice light despite the sudden shock the doorbell brought with it. Sage snickered bitterly.
Sam answered the door. No one stood there waiting; only a box sat on the welcome mat. The air was so crisp and cold that it was like biting into an ice cream cone. A box that was wrapped in black paper and twine. On a little white card, it said Sam Winchester in a neat little scrawl.
“Who was it?” asked Sage as Sam heaved the box into the home.
Sam shrugged. The air suddenly felt cold. “I don’t know,” he said, looking down at the box. His heart hammered in this throat. “It doesn’t even say where it’s from.”
Sam’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Well, there’s one way to find out,” giggled Sage. Her and Sam tore at the black paper and twine, revealing a black box underneath. Sam opened the box and Dean gasped. Laying in a velvet mold was a dummy. “Oh, Sammy, you adopted us a baby!”
“A baby? What is that thing?” asked Sam, his eyes blazing in confusion, watching as Dean picked up the dummy.
Sage giggled, holding her hands over the dummy and making spooky noises. “Who would send you a dummy?” asked Dean, his breath smelled of burritos and refried beans.
Sam looked in the vacant yet dark expression painted onto the dummy’s eyes. “I have no idea!” The dummy smelled funky, like wet clay.
“Whoever did, has great taste in gifts!” gushed Sage. Her voice had a little Southern glide to it. “I’m jealous! I mean look at the craftsmanship!” She had come from the deep countryside where men were apt to handle snakes on Sunday morning.
Dean shoved the dummy in Sam’s face. The storm front had passed, only a thin, gray drizzle was falling. “I don’t know about you, but Dean is hungry for pizza!”
“I think my brother’s gone crazy.”
“That dummy reminds me of a poem from when I was a child,” said Sage.
Sam drew his fingers across his brow and pinched them together. “What poem?”
Sage’s breath caught in her throat. “It was about an old woman who had all these dolls. It was an old ghost story,” said Sage. She had always been too imaginative for her own good. “Beware the stare of Mary Shaw. She had no children, only dolls.”
Dean looked around the doll-cluttered room. Sage collected dolls. “Beware the stare of Sage Winchester. Sam gave her no children, but she had dolls!” The night wind tore at the house.
“That rhymed terribly, Dean.”
“Find a spot and put him away, he’s kinda creepy,” said Sam. He was a hunter, yet the doll scared him so bad that it felt like his balls were turning into Welch’s grape jelly.
Sage took the dummy from Dean. “Oh, baby, I won’t let the scary dummy hurt you,” said Sage. The wind howled, sounding like the wail of a creature long since dead. She sat the dummy on the couch.
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