Title: "Ghouls, Grit, and Goofballs"*

By: Team Sherlock and Watson

Disclaimer: I don't own Ghostbusters or Supernatural

The neon lights of New York City flickered in the darkening twilight like mischievous spirits teasing from their street corners. Amongst the hustle and bustle of unwitting tourists, two figures stood apart, their leather jackets slightly out of place in the urban landscape. Sam and Dean Winchester had just exited a diner, bellies full of pie, when they were ambushed by an ethereal glow in the alley nearby.

"Great," Dean muttered, squinting into the shadows. "Just what we needed. Another ghost."

As they crept towards the source of the light, a thunderous crash erupted behind them, causing Sam to jump. In the blink of an eye, they turned to find themselves face to face with a quirky team of four peculiar individuals dressed in bright orange jumpsuits, complete with proton packs slung over their shoulders.

"Ghostbusters!" the shortest one—Egon Spengler—announced proudly.

Dean's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You guys don't really think you can bust ghosts, do you?"

Sam rolled his eyes, already bracing himself for the inevitable clash of egos.

"Of course we do," said Peter Venkman, flashing a knowing grin. "And who are you supposed to be? The Ghost Whisperers?"

"We're more like ghost hunters," Dean replied, puffing out his chest. "And we've been doing this a lot longer than you have."

"Really?" Egon adjusted his thick glasses and stepped forward. "How many have you actually trapped?"

Sam, sensing the impending battle of wits, tried to intervene. "Maybe we should all just—"

"Actually, we've got a pretty high success rate," Dean interrupted, crossing his arms. "Over a hundred ghosts laid to rest."

"What's that in ghost years?" Ray Stantz chimed in with a smirk, holding up his ghost trap, clearly unfazed.

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"Look, do you want to compare our techniques or what?" Dean challenged with a gleeful spark in his eyes. "Because I've got salt and iron on my side, and you've got… what? A vacuum cleaner?"

"Proton packs, actually," Peter replied, swinging his pack around with a flair. "And they're proven effective against all kinds of paranormal phenomena."

The banter was escalating, and all Sam could do was watch in disbelief as his brother's ego inflated like a balloon at a birthday party. "Can we just focus on the task at hand? There's a ghost out here we need to deal with."

"Relax, Sammy," Dean chuckled, turning to the Ghostbusters. "What do you say we take this ghost down together? I mean, two teams are better than one, right?"

Peter slapped Dean on the back with a friendly enthusiasm. "I like the way you think! Let's show this ghost who's boss!"

With an ungrateful groan, Sam fell in line behind his brother and the Ghostbusters. The camaraderie felt strangely cheerful, despite the underlying currents of competition. As they ventured deeper into the alley, strange noises echoed off the brick walls—the sounds of something quite spectral.

"This must be where the ghost is hiding," Egon remarked, his analytical mind in full form. He pulled out a device and squinted at the readings. "Unusual readings... something very angry is within twenty feet."

Dean grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, boys! Time to show them how real hunters handle business!"

The group trudged onward until they reached a litter-strewn courtyard overtaken by a fog thicker than a bowl of gravy. Suddenly, a wailing figure emerged, translucent and aggressive, its vengeful scream ringing in their ears.

"All right, guys! On three!" Dean shouted. "One… Two…"

"Wait!" Sam interjected, but it was too late. Dean and Peter charged forward, eerie confidence in their eyes, while Sam facepalmed as the two attempted to coordinate their ghostbusting efforts.

Before anyone could process what had happened, the ghost dashed toward Dean, only to be intercepted rather clumsily by Venkman, who tripped and knocked into Dean. The two landed in an ungainly heap, arms and legs tangled in homemade movement.

Even amidst the chaos, Sam couldn't help but chuckle, while Egon and Ray scrambled to set up their gear.

"Is this a ghost fight or a slapstick comedy?" Sam quipped. Despite his frustrations, the absurdity of the situation was hard to resist.

As the ghost swirled dramatically above them, both teams exchanged frantic glances until they realized they were standing in each other's way.

"Okay, okay," Dean huffed, pushing Venkman aside. "Let's just focus."

Underneath the cacophony, they began working together, using salt and containment spells mixed with proton streams. As they honed in on the ghost, the tension dissipated like mist in the morning sun.

With one final coordinated effort, they captured the ghost in a beautiful, dramatic finish, glowing green light swirling as it vanished into the trap. High-fives erupted among the two teams, though much to Sam's chagrin, not without a few playful jabs.

"Not bad for amateurs!" Dean laughed, nudging Peter.

"Yeah, yeah, just remember who you're dealing with next time," Peter winked, tossing Dean a friendly punch on the shoulder.

As the night wore on, the competitive edge blended seamlessly into camaraderie. They shared laughs and stories, with Sam begrudgingly admitting the Ghostbusters weren't half bad after all.

Finally, Dean turned to Sam. "See? Fun times and ghosts taken care of. What's not to like?"

"Right," Sam replied, a grin breaking through despite his earlier annoyance. "But can we please do it without the theatrics next time?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean shot back, laughing heartily along with Peter.

As they all headed toward a local bar to celebrate their victory, they found themselves unexpectedly united in their ghost-hunting adventures, two unlikely teams bonding over the shared thrill of the hunt—and the comedic chaos that ensues when egos clash in the world of the supernatural.

In the heart of New York City, a new duo of ghost-hunters was born, albeit with a side of laughter and a healthy dose of rivalry.

And so, the night came to a close, leaving warmth in their hearts, and perhaps a little optimism about future encounters—after all, if they could take on ghosts together, what else might the universe throw their way?