Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

Drop-Off // Sam & Danny

Word Count: ~2900

Warnings: none. Part spooky story, part fluff, part crack. Happy Halloween :)

Inspired by my own many haunted cemetery adventures and, of course, my adoration for this pairing. I could really see these two getting up to some ridiculousness on Halloween. I hope you enjoy & have a safe & marvelous Halloween!

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"Sam, wait--ah, fuck." Stopping in his tracks as the jagged metal fence, a nearly person-sized hole cut through it, clung to Danny's sleeve, threatening to tear it. "Stop--just wait," he ordered, eyes darting ahead to try and make out Sam's shape in the pitch black.

Sam turned around, also blinking to try and see Danny. The silver of the fence was more obvious, so his eyes followed that to Danny's arm, crooked and stuck. "You good?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not," came the irritated reply. Sam heard the fence rattling and another muttered curse, then Danny was stumbling forward, hands flying to Sam's shoulders. "There you are. I can barely see, Sam."

"Just a little further, then we can use the flashlights," Sam assured his partner in crime--literally. Even though they hadn't cut that hole in the fence, it was still breaking and entering into a cemetery after hours. Trespassing. And it wasn't like they were 16 anymore--they were adults, and adults faced real consequences. That was something Danny wasn't forgetting, but Sam had compartmentalized his thoughts enough to leave that one tucked away for now.

Danny's hands were still tight on Sam's shoulders. The earth below felt too soft, too unreliable. At least even with Sam's chaos, he was still a grounding presence. "Why are we doing this?"

"The urban legends. The cult," Sam replied, turning away to move forward, taking Danny's hand in his own. He would be his guide. His own eyes had adjusted, for the most part, to the sliver of moonlight and faint smattering of stars; still, he walked swiftly but carefully, relying more so on feeling than on sight to avoid the fallen headstones and very trippable dips in the ground. "Remember where it all supposedly takes place? The Devil's Bowl? We're going to find it."

Why had Danny agreed to such a stupid idea? Oh, right--it was Sam's idea. And a lot of Sam's ideas seem good when they're both drunk and stoned and in need of some kind of adventure, an adventure entirely of their own choosing. Literally, it was an idiotic, risky choose-your-own-Halloween-adventure. "Right, but then what? What if there IS a cult there, sacrificing crows or cats or drinking pig's blood, or whatever they do?"

Sam laughed. "There's not going to be a cult there. At least, no dudes in hooded black robes drinking blood. Come on, Daniel." He tugged Danny forward, stepping along the base of the little valley until they were on gravel, a curved stretch of road between two big mounds of graves sprawling before them.

"I already know we're gonna get lost," Danny warned in Sam's ear, stepping up to be at his side.

"Nah," Sam said, as confident as ever, graveyard or no graveyard. He moved forward again, sneakers crunching over the gravel, and grabbed the pocket-sized flashlight from his hoodie, turning it on and shining it on the signs down at the next meeting of roads. "We're on Indian Trail and Bluebell Road. Remember that."

Danny stared at the signs, trying to imprint them in his mind. "So where to next? We don't even have a map."

Sam shuffled in his pockets again, pulling out a pamphlet, slick and shiny in the moonlight. "Wrong again, Daniel. I came prepared." He opened it up and held his flashlight over it. "Okay, so the Devil's Bowl isn't on the map." Danny scoffed, and Sam gave his ankle a light kick. "Stop it. It's not on the map, but remember, it's right by that big fountain? That's on the map."