Superbumps: The Ghost Next Door
Summary: Dean meets the new neighbor, Castiel, who he is convinced is a ghost.
Rating: K+, for everyone.
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural nor Goosebumps.
Chapter 1
The fire was getting closer. Bright orange flames bloomed across the ceiling, roaring hungrily even as Dean stared up, clenching the bedcovers to his chin.
For a moment he thought he was trapped in a nightmare, but when he sucked in a breath, all that entered his lungs was thick, acrid smoke, which billowed out from the curling wallpaper. He choked, rolling out of bed.
"Mom!" he rasped. "Dad! Fire!"
Dean fumbled on bare feet towards the door, but stopped short when he saw the fire was between him and it—and was licking closer by the second, eating up the comic books he'd strewn all over the floor. Dean clambered back into his bed, springs creaking under his knees.
"Mom!" he screamed. He coughed harshly, eyes streaming. "Dad! Help me! Fire! Fire!"
There was only one escape.
Dean leapt out of bed and raced to his window. He climbed onto the sill, shoving the pane up, fingers and palms slick with sweat. The grassy yard, black in the night, looked a long ways down.
He turned back to his bedroom, heat blistering his cheek. No other way.
Dean jumped.
And bolted upright, gasping.
"Dean!" called Mary from downstairs. "Breakfast!"
He released a slow breath, green eyes darting across his room.
No fire. No smoke. No heat.
"Just a dream," he whispered to himself.
His room was the same as always, walls covered in rock band posters and the floor strewn with comic books and records, all illuminated in the golden sunlight streaming in from the windows.
"Dean!" his mother called again.
"Yeah, I'm up! I'm up."
Dean rolled out of bed, shivering as his bare feet touched the cold floor. He slipped out of his Scooby-Doo pajamas—and no, they weren't for babies—and into a pair of jeans with a black T-shirt. He slipped an old flannel over it and popped the collar. Running a hand through his short hair to fluff it up a bit, he galloped downstairs into the kitchen.
"Morning, Dean," Mary said over the rim of her coffee mug.
"Morning," he grumbled.
"Did you have any bad dreams last night?" she asked casually, though Dean knew it wasn't a casual question at all.
"Nope," he lied. Mary quirked an eyebrow, but let it be. "Where's Dad?"
"He left early this morning to go and see Uncle Bobby up at Sioux Falls," she said. "We didn't want to wake you boys. But he'll be back later this week." She turned her attention to her younger son.
"Samuel, what did I say about books at the table?"
Without looking up, Sam whined, "But Mom, I'm at the best part. It's the chapter where Odysseus defeats Polyphemus."
Dean snorted. "Geek."
Mary gave Dean a disapproving look as Sam looked up to glower and stick out his tongue.
"Be nice," she reprimanded.
Dean shrugged and reached across the table for the milk, which he added generously to the oatmeal in front of him.
"What have you got planned today, Dean?" Mary asked.
Dean frowned. "Same as usual. There's nothing to do in this stupid town, anyway."
"Well, that's not true," she said. "You could…ride your bike in the park."
"The chain is broken and the tires are flat."
"You could walk to the park."
Dean's scowl deepened.
Sam piped up: "You could read a book."
The elder Winchester boy shoveled the last of his breakfast into his mouth, then pushed his chair back. "I'm going to write a letter to Benny. Again. Because I guess he's having so much fun at camp that he forgot about me." He stormed out.
Mary sighed. "Sorry, Dean. Maybe next year, okay?"
Dean didn't respond. His footsteps receded up the stairs.
"Sammy. Book off the table."
"But Mom!"
Dean slammed his bedroom door shut, then sifted through the pile of papers on his desk for a blank sheet and a pencil.
He leaned over the mess and heatedly scribbled out:
Dear Benny,
Remember me? Your best friend? It's Dean Winchester—from Lawrence, Kansas, in case you forgot that, too. If you don't write back, I'm not going to give you any presents for your birthday. I'll save them for when Sam turns 12, so you'll have to wait a whole four years to know what I got you, so you better frigging write back!
Not with love, Dean W.
Dean folded the page and stuffed it into an envelope, and finally stuck the entire letter into his back jeans pocket. He slid down the stair banister and stomped to the front door to put his shoes on.
"Mom! I'm going to the post office."
"Fine, but be careful, and be back before dark."
"I will," he said, shutting the door behind him. "Maybe," he muttered under his breath.
Since Dean's bike was out of commission, he'd have to walk to town. Besides, he had a few bucks to get a slice of pie at the bakery.
He took another deep breath, relishing the fresh, crisp air, and set off to town. But as he turned he stopped short.
"Huh?" he uttered, brows raising in surprise.
A moving van was parked outside the neighboring house—the one that had been empty for as long as Dean could remember. Someone was finally moving in!
Dean watched the front door for a few minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new owner. But no one appeared. They must have been rearranging stuff inside.
He was tempted to stay, but he ultimately decided against it. Benny's letter was burning a hole in his back pocket, and Dean needed to get to the post office before they closed for lunch. Then Dean could get his slice of pie—would he get apple? pecan? he didn't know yet—and head back. By then the sun would be setting, and he would tell his mom that someone was moving in if no one came to introduce themselves yet. She would probably bake a casserole to give as a greeting, and make him and Sam dress their Sunday best and go over and meet them.
Maybe there would be a kid Dean's age.
Finally, something new in this stupid town!