"The Box"
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Bobby asks Dean to do a simple task: watch a cardboard box. How hard could it be? Well, it is Dean we're talking about… A short, three chapter ficlet.
Dean yawned easing back onto the tie-dyed bed. Sam was researching their latest case at the local library. Bobby was running an 'errand.' "Finally some peace and quiet. No demons, no ghosts, no Bob—"
"Get over here and open the door!" The command came from outside and as much as Dean wanted to ignore it, he couldn't. Well, he could, but he would pay for it dearly later. Bobby was not one to be trifled with. Heaving himself off of the bed, accompanied by a frustrated squeak of the mattress, Dean crossed the brightly colored room to open the lime green door. He was met with the sight of Bobby, decked out in full flannel carrying a good-sized cardboard box. Dean stood aside to let the older man in. "Where's the Jolly Green Giant?" Bobby asked when a quick look around deemed that Sam was nowhere to be found.
Dean rolled his eyes, "Researching. You know how much he loves that." Dean glanced at the box as Bobby put it gingerly onto the counter. He couldn't resist—He just had to. "I take it Gwyneth Paltrow's head is not in the box?"
Bobby, seeming to be in a hurry, said quickly, "Nope. But I need you to watch it."
"Why? Is it gonna disappear?" Dean chuckled.
"No, you idjit!" Bobby threw the door open, not bothering to look back as he called out, "Do not touch it. Just watch it!"
Before Dean could say another word, Bobby had fired up his worse-for-wear thunderbird and was pealing out of the parking lot.
Retreating back into the hotel room, Dean went straight to the box. For a while, he just stared at it, wondering almost absently what was inside…Well, he knew it wasn't a head…or at least not Gwyneth Paltrow's. Taking out the EMF detector just in case, Dean scanned the air around the box. Nothing. Not even a blip… Maybe if he just shook it, just a little…
But when Dean went to reach for the box, it was gone. Frowning, Dean found that the box was a few feet to the left. Odd.
Chalking it up to a simple mistake, Dean reached for the box again. For the second time, all that the elder Winchester brother grasped was air. Narrowing his eyes at the box, which was now a few more feet to the left, Dean asked no one in particular, "What the hell?"
"Alright then…" Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes and counting to three. On the count of three, his eyes flew open, going directly to where the box—had been? There was nothing. Dean ran his hands over the marble countertop, searching for any sign of the box. Nothing. NOTHING.
"Well this is just nutty!" Dean continued to search the countertop; all that he could find was a smell. It was sweet, sickly sweet, like burnt cotton candy…
His eyes raked the room as he spun around, desperate for any sign of the box. Had it been a dream? Had he hallucinated Bobby bringing the box in? Why did he have to watch the damn thing anyways? It was just a freaking box.
Just a freaking box that was sitting at the foot of his bed. Letting out a cry of frustration, Dean went for his phone instead of the box this time, keeping an eye on the offensive brown object the entire time that he held the phone to his ear. Dean decided to try Bobby first. It was his box that was driving him crazy, so if Dean was going to bitch to anybody, it was going to be to Bobby. Well, at least at first.
No answer.
"Crap." Dean muttered, taking a step back so that he was leaning on the counter. He tried his brother next. Sammy probably had his nose in a book. Typical.
There was a pause as Sam answered, "Dean?"
"Sammy! Thank God!"
Confused, Sam shut the dusty old copy of Grainger Family Heritage and gave his older brother his full attention. "What is it?"
"It's this freaking box! I think—You know what? I don't even know what I think! Just—Just get back to the motel. We have a—" Dean narrowed his eyes at the box, "—situation."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Look." Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "Bobby brought me a box to baby sit. I don't know what's in it, but it's pure evil! And it's driving me CRAZY!"
Getting to his feet and swinging his backpack onto his shoulder, Sam asked, "Are you sure?"
"As sure as I'm gonna get. If the freaking thing would sit still for five seconds, I would throw a handful of salt on it! But it keeps moving!" Dean's eyes darted to the shotgun shells full of salt that were sitting on the nearby table. As soon as he looked back to the bed, the box was gone. "You've got to be freaking kidding me!"
Sam didn't know what to think; except for he needed to get back to his brother. Now. "Right…Just don't move. I'll be there in five minutes." With a sigh, Sam shoved his way out of the front door and out to the Impala. This was going to be a long day…
R&R please.