SPN; Dean & Sam; Rated PG
"Dean, wait until we hear back from Bobby."
"And give that monster a chance to snatch another child? I don't think so." Dean kept loading the shotgun with rock salt.
"I'm not saying we sit on our hands and do nothing. But if you go in there half-cocked--"
"I'm not waiting another night, Sam." The barrel snapped into place with a familiar click. He stared at Sam. "I don't want to interview another set of parents tomorrow knowing they'll never see their child again."
"I don't either," Sam said, trying once again to get his brother to listen to reason. "But I also don't want you to do something foolish."
"Me? Something foolish?" Dean spread his arms wide, still holding the shotgun in one hand. "I can't be killed. I'm pretty sure that would forfeit the crossroads deal."
Sam was pissed. "Quit talking like that!"
"Come on, Sammy." Dean hefted a duffle over his shoulder. "You looked up the info, we know what we're dealing with and we've handled them before."
"But this one is different."
"A boogeyman is a boogeyman."
Sam opened his mouth but before he could get out a word, Dean cut in. "What would Chuck Norris do?"
"What?" Sammy wasn't expecting that.
"You know, what would Chuck Norris do? I tell you what he'd do; he'd go in there guns blazin', that's what he'd do."
Dean headed toward the hotel room door. "You comin'?"
Sam sighed and (reluctantly) followed.
- - - - - - - - - -
"How was the poker game dear?" Mrs. Boogey took her husband's coat as he walked in the door and carefully hung it on a coat rack.
"Same old, same old," he answered. "Sandy made a killing, as usual."
"Oh my!" the missus said. "Who died?"
He shook his head. "No one, that was just the expression."
"Oh, okay." Knowing the poker regulars, it hadn't been an outrageous assumption.
"I love the guy, but hate playing with him. Everything's going fine, then it's like I fall asleep for a millisecond - at least it seems like that - and sometimes my cards don't look like the ones I had earlier. And he wins." He threw his hands up in the air.
"Dear, what do you expect when you play with a Sandman? He probably puts everyone to sleep, changes the cards and then wakes you up again."
Boogey thought about it for a few seconds then answered, "Nah, we all pinkie swore we wouldn't use any supernatural tricks during our games. I'm sure it's just my imagination."
"Who else was there?" she asked, as she followed him up the stairs. He was always so tired after his poker game and she already had the bedcovers tucked down and waiting for them. Normally he would take a child or two; sneak into their closet or perhaps under their bed, snatch them, and then they'd have a nice meal the next evening. Or, if it were a market day the following morning, they'd take the child and see how much they'd fetch on the selling block.
"The usual gang, except for Nergal. He had a cold, or something, I think. Oh and Vinz Clortho wasn't there, either. His wife is due any day now."
"How wonderful!" She clapped her hands together. "I'll have to make them a fruitcake."
Boogey reached the upstairs loft and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes. "I'm beat, honey," he said. "The past three days have taken their toll."
"It's not like the old days, is it?" she commiserated, placing his shoes in the corner by the dresser.
"It certainly isn't. Kids used to actually be afraid of me. Nowadays I'm more apt to get a knee in the groin or half a can of pepper spray in my face, rather than the frightened screams I'm used to."
"Sometimes I wonder what the world's coming to."
"Ah well." He smacked his hands on his knees and stood up. "Time to get some shuteye." He started to crawl between the covers when he stopped and glanced nervously at the closet door. "Did you check?"
"No dear, I didn't." Her tone was a patronizing one.
"I think," he started to say, getting out of bed.
"I think you're being ridiculous, as always," his missus said, interrupting him.
"One of these days you'll thank me for my paranoia," he shot back at her. He approached the door cautiously, as if he wanted to open it, but not really.
"Honestly, Boogey, do you really think he's going to be in there?" It was not the first time she'd asked that question. "Of all the demons and specters out there for him to go after, do you think he'd give you--"
"Shhhhh!" He put his finger to his lips. Very slowly he reached out and grasped the doorknob. He turned it gently, trying not to make a sound.
In one fluid move he flung the door wide open, fully expecting to see the usual racks of clothes, the shoe tree in the back and his father's old eight-track collection in the blue tote on the top shelf.
Instead, he looked into the smiling face of Dean Winchester. "Oogie boogie woogie," Dean said, and cocked the shotgun.
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Eric Kripke and the CW. No infringement intended.