An Unfavorable Mix-up
Supernatural and Doctor Who
Badwolf999
Naturally and appropriately we find Dean eating a piece of cream pie while watching Oprah inside the dinky motel. He stuffs another rather large bite of pie into his mouth and holds the fork with his teeth while he flips through the TV channels. The walls are a plaid pattern consisting of the colours bright green, light blue and eggshell white; unfortunately, the pattern of the beds' quilts follow along in the scheme. Books are scattered over the small square table that faces the single West window and sitting at that table is Sammy who is busy reading deeply into Necromancy. Neither of the two boys speaks to each other until both their cell phones ring at the same time; Dean starts and tosses the pie to the left and grasps his knife in a defensive way. Sam holds the cell phone out and motions to Dean to be quite and stay calm while he answers the phone.
"Hello?" Sam answers casually though his thick brown brows knit together as he holds his breathe in anticipation. On the other end of the call there is static, but no voice. At the same time the TV's reception goes blank and up comes white noise in place of what was once there. Sam repeats himself and Dean gets antsy enough to start to move, but he quickly motioned to sit down by a flailing hand owned by his brother. Dean's phone stopped ringing some time ago, but it started again. This time Dean only points to his phone raising his brows and asking Sammy if he should answer it. Sammy nods quickly and tells the person on the other end he's hanging up.
"What the hell do you want?!" Dean shouts into the phone. Still holding the knife he gets up, shaking the bed in his quick movements. Sam winces and puts his hand up to his face.
"Well good morning to you too Sunshine." Bobby says irritably.
"Bobby, well, good morning." Dean blinks and looks at Sam confused, but only receives a shrug.
"I thought I might call you idgits and tell you what I've come across in the past two days. Considering neither of you two have answered my calls I want you to know I was about to send out a search party. Put your heads on my wall once they find you for giving this old man an ulcer." Bobby holds the phone with his shoulder as he flips through the pages of a dusty book.
"Sorry Bobby. This job has given both Sammy and I the creeps. It doesn't make sense, we don't have any actual evidence that leads us to specific monster, and the 'rips in time' have gotten us to chase our tails." Dean now is the one who irritated and Sammy looks up at him with his classic concerned look.
With a sigh Bobby continues to flip and talk "Have either of you heard of H.P Lovecraft?" He waits for a reply.
"I have, Bobby." It was Sam's voice "Dean doesn't recall, but I don't remember anything about Lovecraft." Sam scratches his neck and walks in a small circle.
"He's a writer; a guy who died in 1937, commonly known to write books about the 'weird'. His genres were horror, Science Fiction, Fantasy and Weird Fiction." Bobby was reading from a book, but stopped abruptly when a picture of a man bowing to a skeletal figure is turned over. "Boys, he wrote about necromancing."