Title: Cell
Author: ShaedowCat
Beta: Melirooneykins! (aka Sammy girl at heart) Ta, chica!
Characters: Sam and Dean
Pairing: None
Rating: PG / K
Genre: Wacked-out crack. Also, Supernatural.
Disclaimer: Own them, I do not. Money, I do not make. Sue me, you will not, hmmm?
Feedback: GimmeGimmeGimme!
Summary: Sam uses cultural/technological/temporal differences to outwit a ghost
Warning: Crack. Pure, unadulterated crack. Not even the kiddie version. Just...crack.
Notes: Okay. So possibly not crack, per se...but it feels like crack to me. Feels like crack...tastes like crack...is crack...
Yes, I know, the title is so original...gimme a break, I have a busted tailbone!
There is a Marlborough Street in Boston, but I don't know if it goes up 178, and I don't know if 4/178 is a Brownstone.
Request Fic for the loverly JenCarpeDiem ...who has issues with Sam's mobile phone and its ring tones (or lack thereof)...
P.S. To JenCarpeDiem...halfway through, I realised that Sam and Dean wouldn't be calling their phones mobiles, they'd be calling them cells...so I changed it to cell phone. Still, same difference...hope you don't mind!
Sam watched as the ghost of Robert Shaw flitted back and forth.
"Aren't you going to try and kill me?" he asked finally.
The spirit paused, then turned to him. Dressed in clothes that would have been appropriate around the middle of the 18th century, he looked kind of out of place in the living-room of an abandoned Boston brownstone. Unfortunately, the poor guy had been dragged across an ocean, bound by death to his sword...a sword that had been passed down through his family...the very sword that had taken his life, wielded by a jealous rival.
"No...my apologies," he replied, and he actually sounded sincere. "We must await the proper hour."
"Which would be?" Sam pressed. Robert frowned.
"Why, the midnight hour, of course. The hour Frederick Alyhme challenged me to that duel...the hour he, like the cheating coward he was, stole my blade and struck whilst my back was turned. The hour when I will have my revenge!'
"You do know I'm not Frederick, right?" Sam asked, feeling duty-bound to point out that fact.
Robert actually rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, I am well aware," he grumbled testily, running a critical eye over Sam. "In fact, you do not look much like him...he was fair where you are dark, and short where you are tall...but, you are a young man of Frederick's age, and a warrior, so you will do for my purposes."
Sam was trying to come up with a reply - because, really, what could you say to that? - when a bzzz...bzzz...bzzz sound interrupted his thoughts. He glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise. Finally, his eyes lit upon his cell, lying on the ground near his jacket, blinking and vibrating because of a call or message.
"Could you pass me that, please?" Sam asked automatically. Robert nodded.
"Why of course," he replied. He reached over, scooped up the phone, and handed it to Sam.
"There you go," he said cheerfully. Sam nodded his thanks, then turned his attention to his phone.
The screen told him he had one new message, from Dean, which he opened immediately.
WHERE R U???
Sam winced; he could almost hear Dean yelling at him. He quickly tapped out a reply.
With our ghost. Don't kno where yet...give me sum time. Got til midnite.
When he had finished, he hit SEND.
"What are you doing?" Robert asked suddenly. Sam glanced up to see the ghost watching him suspiciously. Sam shrugged and gave him his best innocent look.
"Nothing really. I'm just writing a death note to my family, so they know I love them. I mean...I know I'm going to die. I might as well use my last few hours to say good-bye to them."
Robert continued to frown for a moment longer, then his face softened and he nodded.
"I wish I had had a chance to do as you are doing...to say good-bye to those I love," he said wistfully. "Alas, all those I loved have been lost to me years ago."
"I'm sorry," Sam said. And he really was. The poor guy had died far before his time...he'd only been Sam's age when he'd been killed.
"So...what is this device?" Robert asked, coming closer and peering at Sam's cell.
"It's a...type-writer," Sam improvised. "You use these buttons to spell out the words you want to use...then, you press this button - " he indicated the SEND, " - to save it."
"'Save it'?" Robert echoed.
"Yeah...I mean, it takes the letters, and puts them in a safe place inside the...type-writer...until someone wants to read it."
"Ingenious!" Robert exclaimed, staring at his cell in amazement. "And that...trembling it was doing?"
"Trembling...oh, vibrating...yeah, that's to let you know that your letters are still safe," he explained.
"Extraordinary!" the spirit enthused.
"Yeah, I know..." Sam replied absently, glancing around. Then: "Hey could you pass me those letters, please?" he asked, gesturing to the stack of mail sitting on the coffee table.
"But of course!" Robert said graciously, scooping them up in his spectral hands and tipping them into Sam's lap. Sam nodded.
'thanks," he said absently, picking one up. He read the address, then picked up his phone.
At 4/178 Dartmouth...follow EMF. Bring rock salt. Lots of rock salt. Also, a blowtorch.
He got a reply almost immediately.
Blowtorch?
For the sword?
Oh. Rite.
Sam raised his head to see Robert watching him curiously. He gave him a quick smile.
"So...how 'bout them Yankees?"
-:-
After an hour and a half of explaining the phenomenon that was baseball to a bewildered 18th century spirit, Sam was only too happy to notice Dean's head poking around the door to the living room.
"Dude, what the hell?" he mouthed. Sam rolled his eyes, then picked up his cell and gestured meaningfully. Dean nodded, then ducked back behind the door.
Wat took u so long? Sam asked as Robert asked him to again explain the scoring system.
U hav no idea how hard it is 2 find a blow torch at this time of nite. Dean answered
Point.
So...sword?
Bedroom...closet, i thnk. Under floorboards.
K
-:-
Five minutes later, Robert paused half-way through a question - something about the different leagues - and shot Sam an injured look. Sam winced.
"At least this way you won't have to kill me...and you can be at peace," he offered. Robert frowned.
"Still..." he grumbled.
"You can see your family again," Sam continued. "See all the people you left behind."
"Who left me behind...it's not like they had to wander the earth for another couple of hundred years..." Robert muttered petulantly, but shrugged. "Very well...it would have been a shame to run you through, anyway," he added. Sam blinked.
"Um...thanks."
Robert gave him a small smile and raised his hand in a wave as his ghostly form began to burn away...moments later, only a faint scent of sulfur remained to mark his passing. Dean wandered in a few moments later.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked. Sam stared at the spot where Robert had stood, then shook his head slightly and got to his feet.
"Yeah, I'm good."
Dean looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged and let it pass.
"So how'd you get a hold of your cell? I mean, spirits aren't exactly known for wanting their victims to escape. It's not as if he'd just hand it to you..."
Sam grinned.
"Exactly how many cell phones existed in the 18th century?"
This is going into the TSS'V because it is crack. Pure, unadulterated crack.
Which I'm actually quite proud of, to tell the truth. More stuff with Sammy as the main character can only be a good thing...practice makes perfect, afterall...
Anyhow...over to you, Readers. Loved it? Hated it? Ambivalent? Have your say! Just click the clicky box and submit your review...it takes a mere moment!
And it will make me happy. : )
luv ShaedowCat xox : )