Multifandom Oneshots

They're Just Stories, Right? (Winchesters Imagine)

"No, no, Jamie, listen to me, just listen!" you sighed into the phone, glancing up as your light flickered again, "I promise you there's something weird going on here."

"Just like in those books you read?" Jamie laughed from the other end. You sighed dramatically, and she giggled again. Walking over to your bookshelf, you idly picked up one of your copies of Supernatural and smiled down at the simple, artless black cover. This one, which read "Swan Song" in plain white script, was your favorite, and it'd taken extreme effort and outrageous good luck to get an actual, physical copy of it, as it was one of the unreleased stories. You'd had the major good fortune of finding the manuscript on an extremely under-visited authors' forum website you happened to be a part of, and you'd gone to great lengths to get it authenticated, eventually getting an anonymous tip to a skype account name, which had resulted in -squeal!- an actual video call with Carver Edlund. It was real, all right. Although, let's just say that it wasn't exactly a legally printed and released copy. But you were happy with it, artless and homemade and all. It was almost like God himself had wanted you to have that book, you liked to joke.

"C'mon, (Y/N), I think you need to get your head outta the clouds. They're just stories! None of it's real. You're house is just old, the wiring must be crappy. And you just moved in, of course you're not used to it yet!"

"I've moved three times, Jamie, I know what a new house sounds like. And I told you, my dad had the wiring checked out for me, and it was fine. All new, just replaced by the landlord like a month ago. I mean it," you wandered to your window, "there's something wrong."

"Well, don't wait on your 'hunters', nerd. If you seriously think there's a ghost, then by all means, happy hunting! I'll even call the Ghostbusters for you!"

You'd stopped listening. Outside, just pulling up the long driveway, was a black '67 Chevy Impala. And stepping out were two men in cheap suits. One of them was very tall with long hair, and he was frowning down in relaxed concentration at what looked like a case file that, after another moment, he threw back into the car. He leaned, head resting on crossed arms, on the roof of the car and started talking to the other, who was a few inches shorter with much shorter hair, and who was uncomfortably adjusting his tie and looking around skeptically.

They looked just like they should. Almost too accurate.

You crept the window open and grabbed the years-old kids' spying toy you hadn't bothered to get rid of yet. Silently thanking God that you hadn't, you slipped an earbud in and listened intently. Over the static and the crackling of the old wires, you could hear the men having a conversation.

"So it's just a ghost? Nothing complicated, no curses or demons or...anything? A normal, regular, classic salt and burn?"

"What, are ghosts too boring now?"

"No, man, of course not, it's just...we are never this lucky. Seriously. Never."

"Well, then, let's hope this one time we are."

"Yeah right. Okay. But I swear, if anything goes sideways-"

"I know, I know. I'm buying the booze when it's over."

You pulled out your earbud, grinning. It was them. Impossible as that was, it was really them, and they were even better than you imagined. Suddenly the grin slipped off of your face. Sam and Dean were at your house. You had a legitimate haunting, probably a vengeful spirit.

Oh crap.

The doorbell rang, and you ran out of the bedroom at full speed, and were about to go tearing down the stairs when you realized you were in nothing but a nightshirt. Oh.

A few minutes and a wardrobe change later, you pulled open the door hesitantly. The guys smiled at you. "Hi. Um, we're agents Michaels and DeVille," Sam said, and they flashed their badges in unison. "We're here looking for information about the previous owners of the house. Can we come in?" This was a scene right out of the books! Letter perfect, badges and Sam's hair and Dean's flirty smile and the Impala and....and you should probably answer him.

"Uh..." you stuttered, eyes darting between the two of them so rapidly, Dean started to look a bit worried, "Yeah. Y-yes, sure, of course. Come in."

You led them down the hall and into the living room, and just caught them exchanging a look when they caught sight of the bookshelf, which was stocked with all kinds of lore books, as well as a tacked-up little poster of the demon exorcism with the anti-possession symbol stamped in the corner.

Don't judge, you thought defensively, you're a fan of that stuff, and not just because of Supernatural, either!

They just looked impressed, if a bit confused.

Well, they did until they saw the poster that said, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Yeah, maybe that one was worthy of judging.