Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: PlayLand

Title: PlayLand
Authors: minkmix & jinkamoo
Rating: PG - Gen - Humor
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: DA & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: While on a hunt in a run down theme park, Sammy accidentally starts tripping on Peyote...
For: HAPPY BIRTHDAY urdsama!!!!

In upstate New York in a small town called Rye there was a Dragon. It was lore built from wood, electricity and a penny a thrill. One of America's relics, its fangs had dulled and its fire dimmed over the years though its frame was no less intimidating.

Sam could see the green painted spires of the Dragon coaster come into view against the late afternoon sun. He folded the crinkled road map over once and sighed, gazing at the dying rays reflecting off the Long Island Sound. He liked what he saw of Westchester county. He let himself imagine what it would be like to grow up there.

"There it is." He said. "The web site said the spirits been seen beneath the Dragon." He frowned a little in confusion at the prospects of that.

"Belly of the beast. " Dean in his shades smoked a cigarette through the open window. Pulling into the crowded parking lot, Sam noticed the rows of shining family-size SUVs and Volkswagens that made their dusty Impala look even more incongruous than normal. Dean opened the door, crushing the butt of his cigarette under his boot.

"Let's get this over with." He said, rubbing his temple.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil was thick in the humid air. Around them families with small children crowded in lines. Alarms went off around the bumper cars, lights flashed, the heavy clunk and shift of metal gears, the screams of those who rode the Dragon's tail. It was, in a word, pandemonium.

"What a dump." Dean commented as they walked past the entrance lined with carnival games.

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. Looks kinda fun if you've had all your tetanus shots."

"Right. So when does this pain in the ass Thing materialize again?"

"Dad's journal said it attacks just after dark or right before the carnival closes. All the victims were women in white leather fringe jackets. There have also been reports of acid wash jeans and high top Reeboks." Sam murmured worriedly.

"Can't exactly blame it." Of all paranormal nasties and demons Dean encountered, the fashion sensitive made him uncharacteristically sympathetic. "So where does it shack up?"

"The Old Mill ride." He snapped the journal shut. "It's about three decades old, a dark tunnel water ride built under the Dragon coaster. It used to be a tunnel of love but it was so rundown that no one wanted to go in it. So get this, they changed it into some low budget gnome mining type thing back in the late 80s."

"Gnomes?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Yup. Old boat cars, un recycled water, crappy animated talking creatures, probably some rats, all enclosed in an unventilated, unlit tunnel that runs about 100 yards in a maze under the coaster."

"Sounds terrifying." Dean said honestly.

"We got..." Sam checked his watch. "....about two hours till closing time. What should we do until--?"

Dean was already on his way to the ticket booth, a crinkled ten dollar bill in hand.

"Are you serious?" Sam watched him buy the roll of red perforated ticket stubs.

"Not usually." Dean replied absently as he slipped his wallet back into his jean pocket and appraised the park. "I'm starved, let's get something to eat."

Sam looked around dubiously. "If we eat here we'll probably get an STD."

"Jackpot!" Dean was headed excitedly to a booth.

Sam followed with a shrug.

Sam had never really gotten the appeal of a wad of dough boiled in oil and covered with sugar. But his reservations aside, Dean had gotten his fill of them and then while still in good spirits had insisted they go on the fabled Dragon itself just because the line wasn't that long. They managed to jam both of themselves into one car, Sam worriedly testing the safety bar that looked like it might snap off if he tried too hard. The ride lurched forward.

During the obligatory clink-clink-clink of the initial ascent Dean shifted beside him.

Sam glanced over at him. "What's wrong?"

Dean had his hand on his stomach and he looked a little green. "Don't feel so good."

"Oh no."

They plummeted down the tracks with all the jolting fury 1970's technology could muster.

Sam could barely pay attention to the vintage sickening experience because he was waiting for the fried dough to make a second appearance during an unfortunate high speed turn.

To Dean's credit he waited until the ride had ended to stumble to the nearest garbage can before puking up untold amounts of dough.

"Nice." Sam noted as he watched children and adults scatter from his brother's immediate vicinity.

Dean lay down on a nearby bench.

"I told you not to eat freakin' four of those things."

"Cup. Ice. Please." Dean moaned weakly.

Sam checked his watch. Another hour. Dean lay panting on his back with a red and white Coke cup filled with ice water balanced on his forehead.

"Hey Dean, where are those tickets?" Sam began going through the nearest of his brother's pockets.

Without opening his eyes, Dean wordlessly handed them over.

"I'll be back in a while." Sam figured a few games of whack-a-mole couldn't hurt.

After a few more unpleasant purges into an oversized park trash can Dean was beginning to feel much more like himself again. He looked around at the dwindling weekenders and searched for the easily identifiable figure of his brother. It was a snap to spot that kid in a crowd.

Sam appeared amongst the masses holding the largest neon pink stuffed bear like thing he'd ever seen.

Dean blinked at him. "What the hell is that?"

"I won it... over there..." Sam smiled gesturing at the ring toss.

"Ring toss?" Dean sneered. "No bumper cars? Tilt-a-wheel? Voma-Tron machine?"

Sam looked down and to the side. "No."

"Oh yeah." Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Forgot."

The poor guy had spent about approximately 9 seconds of his life between his "must be this tall to ride this ride" phase to "must be under this height to ride this ride".

"What else you get?"

"This!" Sam held up a plastic framed poster of Bon Jovi circa 1986. "And this thing but I'm not sure what it is."

Dean took in the leather cord with feathers that was attached by an alligator clip to Sam's jacket. He decided not to tell him it was a roach clip.

"I'll be needing that later." Dean told him. "Anything else?"

"Oh yeah, there was this cool biker booth out in the parking lot. I won a sheet of paper dots but I ate them all already." Sam set the giant pink bear down on the bench. "Man! Remember those things? I haven't seen them since we were kids."

Dean's eyebrows raised and he grabbed the sheet out of his younger brother's hand. "You ate all of these?!"

"Yeah, so?" Sam asked defensively. "What's your problem, you ate 10 pounds of fried lard from an unknown animal--"

Dean choked back on his laugh. "Sammy, these aren't candy dots."

"Huh?" Sam looked back at the sheet Dean had in his hand.

"It's mescaline."


"You know, Peyote?" Dean chuckled. "Bikers in a parking lot? Jesus, how the hell did you ever get into college-- Oh wait I guess I just answered my own question."

Sam swallowed. "Are you sure?"

Dean held up the pink bear. "Is this thing winking at you and telling you to Ride the Snake to the Lake?"


"Then yup, I'm pretty sure."

"Hey Dean, have you ever noticed that the color green sounds like the ocean?"

"Terrific." Dean sighed as he tossed the bear behind him."This gig should be interesting."

Sam eyed the bear warily, leaving it and Bon Jovi where they were and hastily following his brother.

They had stashed a duffel in an easily accessible place for when the park wound down its gears so to speak and they'd be able to finally get to business. It wasn't long now.

Dean lost Sam several times, the most harrowing being the hall of mirrors into which Sam had wandered unwittingly looking for the bathrooms. After he had gotten Sam to stop terrifying the other patrons with his screams, Dean had dragged him to what he hoped was the relative safety of the merry-go-round. He was just sitting down when he realized once again that he was alone.

Sam was headed for the haunted house ride, his red tickets already being placed in the operator's hand. Dean considered the implications of being present for the aftermath and decided that it would be pretty good stuff. He sauntered over to the ride. He wasn't going to go on it of course. Bloody mannequins jerry-rigged on chicken wire set to strobe lights and black lights were something he felt he could miss.

He supposed he should have been relieved when his brother's car emerged from the other side that Sam was still in it at all. Sam stumbled out of the plywood cart on the tracks and spotted his brother.

"Dean, I don't want to alarm you but..."

Dean had acquired a sno-cone while he had been waiting. "Hmm?"

"I think Satan is in there."

"Nah," Dean said flicking Sam's wondering hand away from his colorful cone. "Satan lives in Jersey."

Sam looked nervously over his shoulder.

"So!" Dean asked, slurping up red syrup and chunks of ice. "Ready to start blasting shot guns in a dark haunted tunnel ride while hopped up on psychedelics?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "At least that tree over there says I am."

It all looked innocent. That was the great deception of carnivals. Bright lights and loud noise kept things occupied. Sugar and absurd motions made one giddy. In the dark, Dean smelled the age of this place. He heard it too.

Scratchy speakers lined the dank tunnel. Badly recorded voices of supposedly charming and coy gnomes whispered conspiratorially above and around them as they drifted in the pilfered boat car.

"Shhh! Quiet! They'll hear you!"

"Here they come..."

"We can see youuuu!"

Sam trembled beside him, his knuckles white on the barrel of his shot gun.

He'd had to fight with Sam just to get on. One look at the faded, chipped facade of the Old Mill ride and Sam was ready to wait in the car.

Dean practically had to drag him onto the boat.

The first few minutes were manageable. A couple of paper mache and cement figurines in need of paint.

Five minutes in and Sam's paranoia morphed into full blown panic.


Sam started offing animatronic gnomes like he was in a police training exercise. It would have been hilarious if Dean hadn't started to have to duck some of the blasts.

"You've hit every thing in here but the damn ghost!" Dean growled as he picked himself up off the sticky boat floor.

"MY HANDS HAVE EYES." Sam informed him.

"Hey Lizard King! Over there!" Dean pointed to the shimmering smiling face of the spirit hanging over the now smoking charming vista of the Old Mill's moldy plaster gnomes. The spirit was taunting them.

Sam swung and unloaded 3 rounds of rock salt into its forehead. It laughed and faded, reappearing above them on the ceiling of the narrow tunnel.

"Your days of lame theme parks are over dude!" Dean declared. "Sam- Hand me the salt and the gas can! We're gonna torch this entire thing down! We're gonna OWN YOUR GHOST ASS WE'RE GONNA UM-- Sam?"

Sam was inches away from his face, studying him with glazed intensity.

"Dean you kind of look like that dude from Dark Angel, it's totally freaking me out."

"Focus Sam." Dean growled.


They looked around, guns raised.... Nothing but the steady drip of the rancid ride water and the crackle of smoldering gnome.

"God damn it." Dean grumbled. "It got away!"

Sam was sitting calmly in his seat staring at his open hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Searching for the transcendental which goes beyond the whole given phantasmagoria." Sam replied.

"Man, that dope was some good shit." With a long sigh, Dean dragged him back up by the elbow. "Come on, Shaggy. We gotta ghost to smoke."

They hopped off the boat and entered the darkness of the facade.

Above their heads the dragon's belly growled, the click clack of wheels against track as it ground its teeth. Dean stepped carefully over the remains of an annihilated gnome, starting a little when a frame lined with light bulbs sizzled to life next to him, illuminating a scene he could not quite make out.

"Is that a diorama of the Holocaust?! What kind of ride is this?!" Sam asked as the lights died and faded.

Dean shrugged, intent on the reading from the EMF meter. "Dunno but our friend seems to have found his niche." Dean aimed the EMF meter in the direction of a montage made to resemble a Ferris wheel. While Sam waited, visibly perturbed, Dean examined the deliriously constructed centerpiece, cocking his gun when the EMF began to blink rapidly in his hand.

"Come on out, ya heartless fringe-nazi."

Illuminating the deadpan face of one of the Ferris wheel's patrons, the ghost let out a high pitched peal of laughter.

It didn't take long for Sam to go Rambo on it.

"AHHHHHH!" In seconds, the figurine's head exploded in a cloud of dust, the ghost vanished.

"Great!" Dean coughed, fanning away the dust from the blast. "Ya wanna calm it down a notch there Morrison?" He began digging through his duffel bag. "Sides, we're gonna be here all night if we stick with rock salt." He pulled out one of their father's leather bound tomes.

Exorcism was not Dean's expertise. College had made Sam more adept to reading the passages of Latin required to eradicate most evil manifestations. But Sam had gone to goulash. Whether they spent the night passed out and possibly drunk in a motel or wet and flailing in ancient smelly amusement park water rested solely on his shoulders.

"Eberis Ignutum Sumus." He began, holding the book with one hand while trying to restrain Sam with the other.

"Die Pygmalion, die!" Sam shouted at the top of his voice. "THE EIGHTIES AREN'T EVER COMING BACK!"

"Hssst! Shut up Sam!" Dean hissed, distracted. "Cadios. Malatis. Fondue--dammit!"

A pair of high beam flash lights suddenly hit them both square in the face.

"You boys wanna explain what the hell you are doing in here?"

Great. Johnny law. The Boys in Blue. Pigs. Pork. The fuzz. Dean opened his mouth to explain why he had a smoking sawed off shot gun in one hand and a bible in the other when Sam burst out.

"We were blasting a ghost with rock salt, sir." Sam said urgently. "A ghost that hates Def Leppard!"

That was enough for the cop.

After being dragged unkindly to the parking lot, Dean waited to be slammed into the warm hood of a waiting police vehicle and frisked. Instead, the cop demanded he hand over his wallet. Reluctantly Dean surrendered it, glancing nervously over at Sam. He was on his hands and knees.

"You wanna tell me why that boy is licking my car?"

"He's on a vision quest, sir." Dean answered soberly. One of the cops tried dragging Sam to his feet but Sam refused.

"No wait, I'm almost at the center!" He cried.

The first cop counted out the 10 twenty dollar bills in Dean's wallet, pocketed them, tipped his hat and said "You boys stay outta trouble."

"Oh mannnnnn." Dean took his empty wallet and shoved it back into his jeans.

Sam lay on his back on the cracked asphalt as the cops sped away, spraying them both with dust and gravel.

Looking around the empty parking lot, Dean sighed and joined his brother, folding his hands behind his head.

"Here." Sam said, handing him something.

Dean looked up at the stars coming out one by one in the purple summer twilight. "What's this?"

"Found it in the patrol car." Sam explained. "I think they busted those bikers."

Dean grinned at the sheet of colorful spots in his hand.. "Paper dots."

"Did we get the ghost?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess tomorrow we come back in some parachute pants and some piano ties and find out."

Sam whistled and pointed above them. "Those planets sure are close."

Dean popped several dots into his mouth, letting them dissolve under his tongue.

"Be with right there with ya in a minute dude."

the end
Tags: dean pov, gen, spn humor, spn one shot
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