Hello everyone! I am so sorry for the long wait. I've been out of school for the summer for a few weeks now, and I should have finished this chapter a long time ago, but the summer just sucks all the inspiration out of me. Hopefully I will be writing more, because I have a ton of ideas for the this story that I really want you all to read, along with the many great suggestions from you all.
This chapter comes from guest KyatsRani who suggested that "it would be cool to see something of a crossover fic where Winchesters are investigating a case and meet Scooby Doo gang (or at least young hunters trying to be the gang) doing the same." Which turned out to be quite the challenge for me. I haven't written comedy in a long time, and I've realized that it is much harder than horror and tragedy, considering you have to be in a good mood when you write it. But I'm pretty proud of how this turned out, and I'm excited to write more comedy in the future, because this was really fun.
If you want to submit a prompt, check the rules on the first chapter.
Enjoy.
The Winchester boys run into some familiar faces on a hunt. Who knew Mystery Inc. would be so bad at solving mysteries?
Chapter 3- What's New Scooby Doo?
The Impala roars down the highway at almost ninety, Dean tapping along to a Led Zeppelin song on the steering wheel as air rushes through the open windows in an attempt to keep cool in the unusually warm October heat.
Sam is hunched over in the passenger seat, his sweat-soaked flannel abandoned beside him as he desperately tries to hold down the fluttering map in his lap.
"Did we really have to take a case in Arizona? I hear that Michigan is delightfully cold this time of year."
Dean snorts, turning to Sam, the empty expanse of road ahead of them reflecting in his sunglasses. "Come on, Sammy. Lighten up a bit. It's just a little heat."
"An unseasonably late heat-"
"If you are going to bring up that global warming bullshit again-"
"I wasn't," Sam snaps. "I was just going to say that we've already been through four months of this insufferable summer, and I'm really getting tired of it."
"Sammy, I didn't know the heat made you so irritable," Dean teases, a smirk growing on his face. Sam rolls his eyes and turns back to the map, smoothing it down once again as it attempts to fly away.
"Okay, okay. Why don't you just run me by the case details again," Dean concedes, seeing the annoyance in the stiffness of his brother's shoulders.
"Uh, okay," Sam nods, rustling through the piles of papers trapped under a heavy Demonology book beside him. "So, there have been a couple bodies found, drained of blood, bite marks, the works. Seems like it would be a vampire, but-" he pulls a specific paper from the pile, holding against the dash as he reads over it, "'autopsies have found a venom-like substance in the body'." He tosses the paper back down on the stack, sitting back in his seat. "So I'm thinking Vetala, probably."
"Okay, so we're expecting two or more, maybe a whole pack. How long has this been going on?"
"About three weeks."
"How many bodies have been found?"
"Four."
"Hmm, so I'm guessing a smaller pack." He darts his eyes over to Sam, who is now watching the arid desert roll by out the window. "You think we need backup?"
"No, we should be fine with a couple silver knives and a bit of prior planning." He pauses, glancing back down to the map and up again at the upcoming exit sign. "You need to get off here."
Dean turns off on the exit just as another song comes on, sending him into a frenzy as he tries to sing the solo and the backup, all while playing the drums on the steering wheel and driving recklessly, causing a sly grin to grow on Sam's face as he shakes his head and searches the signs for the nearest motel.
It had taken a bit too long to narrow down the location of the Vetala nest; after having to work with bitter coroners and over-emotional relatives of victims it had already been three days before they made any sort of progress. And Dean had made sure to make the world perfectly aware of his agitation that morning over the fact that it was Halloween. It took two cups of coffee and a hefty breakfast burrito to soften his mood enough to get him out the door and on the case again. That didn't stop his complaining, though.
"God, these fucking civvies and all their dumbass issues. We could have been in and out of here in two days tops, but they had to slow us down with their sob stories and their whining. They just had to hold us up until Halloween."
Sam slumps against the car seat and lets his head fall back onto the headrest, blowing a sigh out through his nose. Dean is brooding in the driver's seat, bent over the wheel, mumbling about trick-or-treaters always 'blocking the goddamned streets'.
"Dean, can you maybe stow it for just a few hours? I'd really like to finish this case without hearing your incessant complaining for the rest of the day."
Dean's head snaps back, face terse and mouth a thin line as he glares at Sam, grumbling under his breath while he loosens his white-knuckle grip on the wheel, grudgingly relaxing in his seat.
It is blissfully silent for a few moments, and Sam is almost convinced Dean might heed his command. It lasts all but three minutes until Dean is fidgeting in his seat, other minute for him to finally break and open his mouth to let out a string of protests, only to be cut off when Sam cranks up the radio, blasting AC/DC so loud that Dean can't be heard over it. Sam can't help but grin as Dean lets out a furious huff and slams on the gas, sending them flying down the street.
"Okay," says Dean, ducking down in the front seat of the Impala as they eye the Vetala nest hidden among the trees. "It's still daylight, so they should be sleeping. I'll go in the front, you'll go in through the back, take out what ever Vetalas you see quickly and quietly, watch the exits so none of them escape, and we'll meet in the middle, then make our way upstairs."
The nest is hidden within an old Victorian-style mansion on the edge of town, overgrown with weeds and eroded by time and the elements. It took a while to squeeze the location out of the locals, seeing as most just knew of the legends surrounding the house and not where it actually was. Most believed it was haunted because, late at night, some said they could hear screaming emanating from deep in the house, naïve teens sneaking in on dares and never returning and such. The usual.
"So, of course," Dean continues, "if you get into any trouble, just call out-Is that the fucking Mystery Machine?"
Sam's head pops up from its place inspecting John's journal on his lap, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline as his eyes fall upon the object that had stopped his brother short.
And if Sam hadn't been through so much weird shit in his life, he would have thought he was dreaming.
Because pulling into the grass-choked lawn of the abandoned house is the fucking Mystery Machine. Any doubts in his mind are immediately eliminated by the blatant lettering across the body of the van spelling out its name. It is painted in those God-awful oranges and blues, just as it was in the show. The both of them can only stare in stunned silence as it rolls to a stop a few yards in front of them.
"Um, maybe they're just big fans of the show. . ." Sam commends, pushing the sweaty hair from his forehead incredulously.
And suddenly the doors of the van swing open and Dean is frantically telling Sam to "Get down!", pushing Sam's head below the dashboard so the won't be seen.
As they listen in with bated breath, a loud giggle drifts through the open windows along with the sound of several shuffling feet and slamming doors.
"Alrighty, gang, let's catch this ghost."
There is moment where the brothers turn to each other with the wildest expressions of complete and utter confusion on their faces, where the absurdity grows too maddening and they can no longer hold themselves back, shedding their sparse cover and peering over the dash to a sight that only adds to the hysteria.
The whole of Mystery Inc. is standing there, dressed head to toe in their gaudy 70s-ware, propped along the side of the van and leaning out of the open back door, looking particularly disheveled and spaced out as they face the beefy guy sausaged into a painfully thin white shirt and some way too small blue corduroys, who they can only assume to be 'Fred'.
"Okay, dudes, we...um, we like are here to snag a fucking ghost."
Sam is already mentally facepalming himself.
The group gives out a lackluster cheer and a couple of drunken snickers, and Sam can already feel the anger rolling off of Dean as they both begin to realize what is going on.
"So, uh, we like are gonna go in there, and we're gonna kill this bitch and save the town." There is another cheer as the group starts to move towards the house. "So, um, let's split up, dudes!"
And Sam is distracted from the group's obnoxious cackling when he hears the Impala's door fly open, the edge of Dean's jacket just slipping out of sight before he can react, frantically jumping out of car and jogging after Dean as he sprints towards the bedraggled bunch.
"Stop! You are not permitted to be on the premises. This is a private property," Dean barks, brandishing his fake ID that Sam knows isn't for the Police Department.
He quickly catches up, out of breath as he digs his badge from pocket, holding it out alongside Dean as his eyes finally fall upon the faces of the so called 'Mystery Inc.'.
The Fred guy is closest to them, hands held up beside his head as he squints his eyes at them, as if he can't really focus on what is in front of him. Up close, they can see that he is wearing a cheap yellow wig, lopsided on top of his head like a furry beret, a woman's red scarf wrapped around his neck. Behind him is who Sam assumes to be Velma, a stout girl with dark skin, dressed in an orange sweater and skirt and chunky black shoes and glasses, her face stern and her arms crossed over her chest. Nearer to the van is a very drunk, very emotional girl wavering in place on platform heels clutching a wine bottle to her chest. He face is hidden by a mass of tangled hair, makeup smeared by the tears running down her cheeks as she quietly sobs, the sleeves of her purple dress slipping down her shaking shoulders. Still sitting in the back of the van is a guy in a stained green shirt and ripped jeans. Sam almost chokes when he see the bong cradled in his lap, the man blinking at them dazedly with a wide smile on his face as he drags his sandals back and forth lazily across the grass with his toes.
"What's going on here, man?" Fred sputters, face red. "We just hanging around, man, it's Halloween."
"Yeah, and this is private property, man." Dean spits, expression tensing. "So I suggest you skedaddle out of here before you end up spending your Halloween locked up for a DUI and possession of illegal substances."
"We're just looking for a little fun, man, everyone comes to the Ghost House on Halloween," Fred scoffs offhandedly, shock still marring his features.
Sam can read Dean's agitation in his pursed lips and stiff shoulders. He is still surprised, though, when Dean suddenly reaches back for his gun tucked in his waistband, grumbling through clenched teeth "Well I'll show you fun-"
"Dean!" Sam's hand is clamped around Dean's wrist in a second, ready to yank him to the side and give him the 'What the hell has gotten into you?' speech, but in that moment, the mismatched group turns in unison as a loud crack! echoes through the yard, the source being the front door of the 'haunted' house, now hanging wide open for all its stunned audience to see.
It seems as if a million things happen at once. The Daphne chick let's out a shrieking sob, falling into the begrudging Velma's arms, desperately begging to leave; Dean lunges forward and grabs the shoulders of the buff guy, spinning him around to shove him towards the van; Sam grabs Dean, trying to stop him, and a shrill bark comes from the darkened back seat of the van, a fat and jiggling bulldog leaping from its depths, scrambling over bong dude and hitting the ground sprinting like Usain Bolt on its short stubby legs towards the house. Fred breaks away to chase after it, tripping through the thick weeds as each swipe at the dog fails, ultimately leading to him smacking face first into the hard ground as the bulldog scampers up the deteriorated steps. They all can only watch in horror as the yapping dog bounds through the open door and disappears into the foreboding darkness of the house, jumping as the door snaps shut behind it.
A bewildered silence settles over the front lawn, each person frozen, eyes locked on the door, as if time had stopped completely.
Dean, eyebrows slowly receding from his hairline, is the first to take in a deep breath and break the silence.
"Shit, please tell me that wasn't supposed to be Scooby Doo."
"Dude you have to let us get our dog! We can't leave him in there!"
Dean is pushing Fred back towards the van in another attempt to gently persuade them to leave. "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you into the house. I would suggest that you go home and relax and we will bring your dog to you when we find him."
"No! We can't just fucking leave him!" He is struggling against Dean's grip drunkenly, nose bleeding down in chin and dribbling on his sweat-soaked shirt from his brief make out with the dirt. "Please, just let me go in and get him. It'll be really quick!"
The whole scene is a mess. Daphne is slumped against one of the tires, shoes abandoned by her side, wine bottle clenched in her wavering hands as she sobs into it heavily. Velma is crouched by her side, one hand lazily patting Daphne on the back, the other propping her own head up as she watches on, uninterested. Mr. Stoner is perched in the doorway of the van, trying to light up his bong for another hit, swaying precariously as he dazedly attempts to flick on an empty lighter.
"Sir, don't make me take you in- Sir, Sir you shouldn't try to rough up a police officer- Sir!"
Fred finally manages to break away from Dean, stumbling up to the house calling out for his dog, well, he's yelling out "Scooby Doo!", which Sam would guess is definitely not the dog's name; he decides to step in before this becomes a full on theme song, taking his arm and pulling him to face him. He is almost as tall as Sam, bulging with muscles in places he didn't even know you could get muscles, hair cut like every other frat boy you would stumble upon on a college campus, his whole 'hot image' marred by the tears streaming down his face and the childish little sobs falling from his mouth that make it hard for Sam to hold in his laughter.
"Uh, dude, I really don't think you should go in there."
"Why?" He sniffles.
Sam chokes down a laugh and lowers his tone. "Because there is something really dangerous in there that could seriously hurt you and your friends if you don't let us get rid of it."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I can't exactly tell you, but just trust me. We are experts. We will get rid of this thing, save your dog, and get out of here, as long as you stay far away and don't interfere. We are just concerned for your safety, that's all."
Fred scrubs at the blood under his nose with the back of his sleeve, nodding lightly in understanding. "Okay."
"Okay?" He nods again. "Okay, so we just need you and your friends to get in your van and drive out to the end of the driveway and stay there. Lock your doors, turn off your lights, and absolutely don't get out. When we are done, we will bring your dog to you, safe and sound, and you can go home and have fun with the rest of your night."
Sam can see that the man seems overwhelmed, but he nods one more time turns to shuffle back to the van.
Dean storms over to Sam as the gang pile back into the van and drive off. "How the hell did you do that?"
Sam shoves his hands into his pockets, a warm grin growing on his face as he watches the Mystery Machine disappear behind the trees. "I don't know, maybe I have gone all Killgrave and have people do whatever I say."
He turns to Dean, watching as the tension relaxes from his face in the golden light of the setting sun. "Or maybe it's just because I've been to college before and learned how to talk down people like him"
"Oh, yeah, forgot you were a fucking brainiac," Dean smirks as he elbows him in the ribs. "Ready to 'catch this ghost'?"
Sam snorts and starts towards the Impala. "Yeah, I think I've had enough insanity for the next lifetime.
"This is why I fucking hate Halloween, man. People are fucking psychos!" Dean swings open the trunk and tosses him a flashlight. "I'm getting too old for this."
Sam grabs a silver knife and twirls it between his fingers. "I don't know, I still think it's kind of fun."
Dean glances up at him, eyebrows rising. "You think getting drunk and high off your ass and rolling around in the Mystery Machine with a dollar store Mystery Inc. is fun?"
"No," he grins, "But watching them do it is pretty hilarious."
Dean lets out a guffaw and slaps Sam on the shoulder, shutting the trunk and sauntering off towards the foreboding house with Sam in tow.
The house is huge. Huge and dark and dusty and full of shit.
They enter on their respective sides, padding through the winding halls with bated breath and knuckles white around their daggers. The low light that filters through the moth-bitten curtains and shattered windows does nothing to guide their paths through the maze of overturned and broken furniture, each loud trip punctuated by a muttered curse and a beat of silence as the hunters listen for any movement from within the house. It's a surprise they hadn't already woken up its inhabitants, with all the commotion that went on outside.
Sam wishes Dean was near so he could make a 'it's bigger on the inside' joke. The house really does seem far more extensive than one would believe upon outward glance. He has been searching through room after room with nothing to account for except dust and the sparse and obscuring furniture that is really starting to get on his nerves. After a couple of minutes, he begins to wonder if they were right about the location of the Vetala nest, or if they just fell to convenient myth and legend. And after stepping into pile of some kind of wild animal excrement, he is really starting to question their choice.
Turning around a corner into what he guesses is going to be another empty hallway, he is shocked to walk headlong into another figure, nearly toppling over from the impact.
"Oh shit! Sorry, Mr. Police Officer!" A hand is clamped around his arm, causing his knife to clatter to the ground.
Sam looks up, confounded to see the tall, wide sillouet of Fred looming above him.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" He whisper-shouts. "I told you to stay in the van!"
"Uh, well, I-I thought I could help. . ." He shrugs, voice rising like a teen high on puberty.
"What- goddammit," Sam shuffles to his feet, cursing under his breath sharply. He retrieves his knife from the floor, smoothing down his jacket as he rocks back and for on his feet trying to figure out the best way of getting the guy the hell out of there.
He takes him by the shoulder roughly, attempting to catch his attention, his gaze having drifted across the room and eyes going out of focus. "Hey." He waves his hand in front of his face. "Could you please, please just go back out to your van - carefully - and stay there? I know that may be difficult-"
"Derek!" Crash! "Oh shit! Derek, where are you?"
There is a racket coming from the front of the house, funiture getting knocked over and murmuring voices overlapping in a clatter that is definitely waking up some cranky Vetala who are definitely going to kick Sam's ass for sure now.
"Shit!" Sam spits, grip tightening on his knife as he sprints lightly through the obstacle course of a haunted house, temper rising with every step. If they all live through this, he is definitely running them all over with their dumbass stoner Mystery Machine.
Sam turns the corner into the entryway to find the slightly shell-shocked knock off Mystery Inc. jumbled together in front of the door, Shaggy fruitlessly attempting to hang up a painting that must have been the culprit of the large crash he heard earlier. Though, it seems that he is holding it upside down, more or less rubbing it around along the wall and waiting for it to catch.
"Oh! Police Officer!" Daphne shuffles up to him on bare feet, brushing the hair away from her makeup-smeared face, eyes still watering. "Do you know where Derek is? He-he came in here, I told him- I begged him not to. I told him that it was dangerous, but-but, he w-went anyway." She breaks down into hiccuping sobs, dropping her head into her hands as Velma comes forward to pull her away with an apologising nod.
"Uh, yeah, he's right back there," Sam says, guesting over his shoulder, realizing that it probably was a bad idea to have left him alone. "But you all just stay right here, I'll get him, and you all will go back out to your car and stay there until we are done." He feels as if he has to enunciate each word just to get through their intoxicated haze. The level of recognition on their faces doesn't do much to assure him, but as he is about to just give up and go to check up on the other guy, a high-pitched scream sounds out from within the house.
"Derek!" Daphne calls out, dashing past him before he has time to stop her, and the only thing he can think is That was Derek?
"Hey! Stop!" He runs after her, mentally sighing as he hears the other two following suit. Man, I'm really starting to understand why Dean hates Halloween now.
"Derek! Derek!" She warbles, swaying and listing as if the floor is rocking beneath her, shoes dangling from one hand and bottle spilling out of the other. He quickly catches up the her and pushes her behind him, baring his knife as they come nearer to the source of the growing clamor, the shadows of two struggling figures revealing themselves as he steps through a doorless doorway. He can hear Daphne's slobbering sobs and Velma's hushed consoling as well as the muffled cracks and smashes of fighting ahead of them. He inches forward, trying to discern the moving shapes. Holding out an impeding arm to the group behind him, he prepares to make a grab for the figure he assumes to be the Vetala. And just as he is about to take a wild guess and hope for the best, one of the figures is pushed straight into him, knocking him into a Grandfather clock behind him, his head smacking into its face. There is a moment of blind fumbling and a bit of accidental groping as the clock begins to tumble forward. Sam is only just able to scramble out of the way before it crashes to the ground in a cacophony of chiming bells and shattering glass on top of the other figure.
"Shit man, that was sick."
In his astounded daze, Sam glances up to see Derek standing above him with a wide grin on his face, eyes dropping down to the unconscious Vetala trapped under the enormous Grandfather clock. In a breath, he snatches his knife from the ground and plunges it into the creature's chest, distantly hearing the disgusted gasps as it shrivels and dies, pressing his eyes closed as the wave of irritation crashes over him with a heavy sigh.
Staring daggers up at the triumphant Derek, Sam gets to his feet, hands clutched at his sides.
"Did it bite you?" He questions through clenched teeth.
The dumb grin falls from Derek's face, caught off guard. "Huh?"
"Did it bite you?" Sam repeats, slower this time.
"Bite me? No. It's not some kind of vampire or something," he scoffs.
"Yes it is 'some kind of vampire or something', a kind of monster that can bite you and suck your blood and inject poison into your veins that sedates you and turns you into Vetala chow." Sam seethes.
"Wait, monster?" Velma exclaims, eyes going wide. "So you're saying that you just killed that dude?"
"No-no." Sam presses his fingers into his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "No, it's a monster. Not a spooky ghost like on your kid shows, not someone in a dumb costume. It's a Vetala. Like a vampire/snake combo meal. Like from the legends and myths passed down through generations, because those legends were real. Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, wendigos, the lot. Okay? So there's your Halloween ruined for you."
Looking around, he can tell he hasn't gotten through to any of them. He didn't expect to.
"What the fuck is going on here?"
Sam thinks he might collapse from relief at the words. He turns to see his brother leant in the doorway, flashlight sliding around the room as he takes in the scene with furrowed eyebrows and a slight smirk.
"Things got a little out of hand." Sam breathes.
"Sure looks like it. Cleared the floor, without much of your help, I might say."
"Well, I've been busy."
"Frat boy," Dean calls, knocking on the window of the Mystery Machine. "Got your dog."
Sam holds up the wriggling bulldog in his arms as Derek's face breaks out in a grin.
The door flies open, and Derek scoops the dog into his arms, hugging it close as it attacks his face with its slobbery tongue.
"Found him hiding in a rusty old bathtub upstairs, unharmed. Practically shit himself when I pulled open the curtain. But he seemed pretty happy to get out of there," Dean relays affectionately as he pets the dog on the head.
"Thank you so, so much. I don't know what I would do without my Scoob," Derek says, scratching the dog's chin as it pants contently.
"Wait, is that really his name?" Sam questions jokingly.
Derek looks up at them, face serious. "Yeah, Scooby Doo."
Dean and Sam look at each other with raised eyebrows, not really knowing how to comment.
"Uh, so did you get rid of the problem?" Derek whispers, gesturing towards the house.
"Yeah, it's all taken care of. You should be having any more issues. Completely safe for costumed college students to sneak into in the middle of the night for whatever they think is so fun about voluntarily going into haunted houses," Dean assures, giving a tight smile.
"I. . . I'm really sorry about that." He casts his eyes down as his cheeks grow red with embarrassment. "It was really dumb of us to come out here. We were drunk and excited about Halloween. I guess we went a bit too far. I mean, I could have been killed, could have got my friends hurt. I'm sorry we kept messing everything up."
"Eh, no problem. People get drunk all the time," Dean says, leaning up against the van. "And considering you've sobered up a bit, I would recommend you go to a big party and get so smashed you won't remember a single thing from tonight."
Sam almost wants to reprimand him with a good smack upside the head, but he can't help but wish to do the same. Forgetting tonight and falling into an alcohol induced sleep seems like a good idea at the moment.
"Yeah, sounds like a plan, but I think I better get my friends and dog home safe before anything else happens."
Shaggy pops his head in from the backseat, leaning over to give Scooby a pat on the head. "Uh, officer dudes, do you, like, have any like, um, food or anything? Like, I've got a serious case of the munchies."
"Don't you have any Scooby Snacks you can 'munch on'?" Dean smirks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Shaggy gives a confused shake of his head, slipping out of sight again.
"Uh, well. . ." Derek continues. "Thanks again for dealing with us. I mean, you saved our lives. I feel like I can't thank you enough."
"Yeah you can. It's fine. This is our job. We save people's lives for a living," Dean says.
"Does that make you some kind of superheroes or something?"
"If superheroes wear the same underwear for three days straight and live off gas station hot dogs," Sam chuckles.
"Well, I guess that's better than dressing up as your hero and putting yourself in harms way to try and be like them," he looks down again, a bit of shame in his voice.
"Hey," Dean claps him on he shoulder, "You can dress up as whoever you want, though I would probably do it in the safety of your own house."
Derek snorts, putting Scooby on the seat beside him, turning the key in the ignition. The van rumbles to life, headlights flickering on as he shifts it into gear.
"I'm gonna get these kids to bed. I don't want to deal with a bunch of drunk college kids for the rest of my Halloween night. I think I'll just turn in and watch some slasher flicks."
"Always a good choice," Dean chimes in.
"You guys keep doing your thing, keeping the world safe."
"And you keep doing what ever college kids do."
"Studying so they can get good grades?" Sam quips.
"I was going to say partying or whatever, but you do you, kid."
Derek nods with a warm smile, closing his door and pulling away with a wave as he rolls down the drive and turns off onto the street.
"Wow, I'm ready to sleep for a week," Dean sighs, throwing his head back.
"Yeah, I think I might have pulled a few muscles trying to get that dog down the stairs."
Dean turns to Sam, the ghost of a smile gracing his face, making his eyes crinkle. "Tired of Halloween yet?"
Sam spins around, an expression of mock offense on his face. "What? No. I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday."
"Yeah? Cause you like dressing up in little kid costumes and going trick-or-treating."
A sly grin unfurls on Sam's cheeks. "No, because all the candy is on sale the day after."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," he replies jokingly as they begin to walk back to the car.
"And what about all the girls in those God-awful 'sexy nurse' costumes? I thought you loved that."
"You know I'm too old for that, Sammy. I can't exactly slide into a sorority Halloween party and expect them not to call the police. I mean, you probably could work it, but I'm far too mature for those types of antics."
"Oh really. Do you only go for older women now?"
"Oh yeah, I'm real classy," Dean said, slipping into the driver's seat of the Impala and closing the door behind him, Sam doing the same. "Women are like fine wine. They need time to mature."
Sam raises his eyebrows, mirth glowing on his cheeks. "Oh yeah? I don't remember you being such an expert on women."
Dean starts up the car, giving Sam a playful look. "I have a 'professional womanizer' licence to prove you wrong."
Sam throws his head back in laughter as the crackling music on the radio fades in, and the two brothers fall into a comfortable silence framed by the hum of the Impala's engine as it rolls down the dirt drive and onto the moonlit street leading into town.
Hope I made you laugh. I felt personally connected to this chapter, considering pretty much all of my childhood was spent watching Scooby Doo because my sister was absolutely obsessed with it. I mean, I pretty much wrote this entire chapter just for her. Doubt she'll read it though. She likes to make fun of me for writing fanfiction.
If you have an idea for a chapter I should write, don't be afraid submit it! Don't worry, I don't bite.
And please, don't forget to review! Reviews make my day all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns, so I would really appreciate it if you left some feedback about this chapter.