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"Stuck up in the office tower, you know it's pure joy. And that's my superpower, I'm a career boy" - 'Career Boy', Dorian Electra
Dean paused to stare off into space while he pondered his next words. Distracted, he got up and paced back and forth in his office. The damn thing wasn't going to write itself and he had a deadline to meet!
Maybe another coffee?
The stuff provided on tap was near-universally accepted as being pretty bad, but Dean didn't care, it got the job done and practically flowed in his veins.
He took another sip and grimaced, more from habit than the burnt flavor redolent of the pyres of lost and forgotten dreams. His taste buds had long ago given up on trying to interpret something pleasant from the beverage.
Gently stretching out his spine from the aches of hours of sitting hunched-up over the screen, he considered his onscreen document from another vantage point. He supposed that wasn't what they meant when they said to get multiple points of view, but it wasn't like there were a lot of people he could trust around here. All so eager to get ahead, they'd stab you in the back as soon as look at you.
He couldn't help but wonder if that might also be the literal rather than the figurative truth. Especially since old man Adler has disappeared onto "extended leave". Dean suspected that it was a gardening leave that would only end when the creepy, old guy ended up pushing up daisies. Still, nature abhors a vacuum, and someone had to have that, frankly sweet, corner office.
Senior management certainly wouldn't be impressed to find him here procrastinating, even if it wasn't strictly on company time. He allowed himself another heavy sigh. As if they'd want anything less than his immortal soul or his firstborn, and it's not like he was ever getting out and meeting anyone at this rate.
The office lights sudden flickering distracted him from his dithering and a shot of anxiety went straight to his spine as he considered some of the recent events that had taken place in the office. His fingers strayed to the sachet of salt he'd taken to keeping in one pocket. With his blood pressure, it's not like he'd ever use it on his food – not to mention, his stomach was way too sensitive to bloating.
His anxiety spiked as he realized the flickering wasn't just confined to the lighting. The computer screen seemed to tremble as if standing on the edge of a steep precipice before the display was plunged into darkness.
Dean's jaw dropped in horror. "No!!" he screamed. He sat back down in front of the device, but at a subconscious level he knew it was already too late.
When was the last time he'd saved? "No, it's probably fine, don't they save themselves now, anyway?" he muttered to himself. His fingers fluttered over the power switch, desperate to remember the secret handshake of button presses that was supposed to restart recalcitrant devices. Perhaps you had to be a Shriner?
Ah, talking of strange, secret societies... he dialed the dreaded number.
"Hello, Tech Support."
Even before the voice on the line went on to introduce itself, Dean recognized the identity with a sinking feeling.
"Hello Sam," he replied, trying, but failing, to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.
The tone was equally matched in return, after the briefest pause.
"Ah, hello, Mr. Smith... how can I help you?"
Despite his reservations, Dean spoke at some length about the fundamental nature and circumstances of his situation and he made several attempts to impress on his colleague the urgency and importance of his work.
"Have you tried switching it off and back on again?"
Dean couldn't quite tell from Sam's tone if he actually meant that seriously or not.
"Hello? Are you still there?" called Sam. "Are you sure it's on?"
The world seemed to shrink and waver and the receiver creaked under the pressure of Dean's grip. "How can I tell?" he asked in a saccharine-sweet tone that would have made his family run out of the room in terror.
Sam made a strangled, scoffing noise down the phone. "There's a button..."
"Of course I know how to restart a computer," snarled Dean. "I'm not an idiot."
Sam scoffed again. "Could have fooled me, you're still here, aren't you?"
"And so are you, thanks to me, and no thanks to your little destructive temper tantrum. I had to pull some strings, call in a favor with HR, and pay for that equipment from my own budget, you know."
There was a brief silence. "Thank you," said Sam at last, in a small voice.
"If you really wanted to thank me, you'd get your ass up here and fix my damn computer," yelled Dean and slammed the phone down.
~#~
Dean rearranged the receiver and gave it a reassuring pat, guilty at the thought of abusing company resources. He knew it was likely a lost cause, but he just couldn't reconcile himself to losing his work. Feeling overwhelmed, he ran his hands through his hair, unmindful of all the product in it and the ultimate mess it would make of his appearance. "All that work, down the drain," he groaned. "I'm never gonna make the deadline at this rate."
He was abruptly startled from his despondency by the realization that there was a large looming presence by his side.
"Jeez, don't creep up on a guy like that," he gasped, clutching at his chest.
Sam snickered. "I thought you'd be used to that now in this place."
"That was a one-time thing," hissed Dean, looking left and right irrationally for anyone who might be listening in. "And I thought we agreed to never speak about that again."
"No, you agreed. I was just dumb enough to go along with you," grumbled Sam.
"Oh, come on," scoffed Dean. "Just what kind of messed up life would that have been? Plus, we've no idea how often something like that might happen."
"People die all the time," said Sam pointedly.
"Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine? Fortunately, they don't tend to hang around afterward." Dean shook his head to clear it. Seriously, but the only person who got under his skin this much was his sister, Jo. "Anyway, that's not why I called you. I need you to get my laptop working again."
"Most people here tend to leave on the dot of five, why are you still here? You could work from home."
Dean shrugged. "Here's as good as anywhere. Not that it's any of your business."
"Excuse me for asking." Sam fiddled with the laptop for a moment, pressing and holding what to Dean appeared to be an esoteric keyboard combination. A moment later, the laptop started into life only to almost immediately power down again.
"Why's it doing that? I thought you fixed it?" cried Dean, his voice growing shrill.
Sam held up his hands in surrender. "Dude, chill. It's just out of juice. Plug in a power cable, and you'll be good to go in no time."
As if on cue, the lights flickered on and off aggressively.
"It did that earlier," said Dean in a tone that made it clear he was assigning the personal blame to Sam.
"Yeah, the power's been fluctuating in the building for a couple of days," said Sam, too distracted by a strange, home-made looking device he pulled from his pocket to be paying Dean any mind. He used the gadget to scan the area, grimacing when it made a high-pitch shrieking, before finally switching it off. "EMF's off the scale," he mumbled to himself.
Dean frowned. "So is this why you've stayed late? You're still playing at being Ghostfacers?"
"It's not the only reason," said Sam defensively. "But yeah, I do think there's something strange going on."
"Another ghost? How much haunting can one corporation have?"
"Must be all the oppressed employees," Sam muttered mutinously under his breath.
Dean squinted. "You know, I'm not sure you're really Sandover Bridge & Iron material."
"Who would have guessed?"
The lights flickered again, but this time went out, plunging the room into darkness save for the red glow and emergency lighting in the exit signs.
Sam shrugged. "Well, if you want me to fix your laptop, we're gonna need to get the power back on first."
"Isn't that a job for Maintenance?"
"Hey, it would be if there were any of them left. Haven't you noticed the rapid staff turnover and distinct lack of cleaning crew?"
"Well, I did think the bathrooms weren't quite up to scratch recently, but to be honest some of the staff here are utter savages, so-"
"-yeah, well, yours truly," interrupted Sam, pointing back to himself with both thumbs, "is responsible for updating the access to the door security system, and I can tell you that we've been getting through at least a couple of new starters each week for months, but now it's got to pretty much every day."
"Well, maybe working here doesn't work out for them and they just move on," argued Dean. "I mean, I wouldn't want to spend my days scrubbing toilets either..."
"Unbelievable," muttered Sam, shaking his head. "Actually, no, I can't imagine you doing something useful like cleaning a toilet either, but you don't understand. Whatever this is, it might have started with the people you don't notice because they come in past the end of the day, but recently it's started working its way up the corporate ladder. Like, half of Finance disappeared just last week."
"Well, so long as we've still got payroll," quipped Dean. Almost immediately he held his hands up in surrendered apology at Sam's furious expression. "Okay, okay, jeez, some of us process bad news with humor! Okay, so if--and it's a big if-- you're right, then where are all these people disappearing to?" His face crumpled as a recent memory took hold. "Oh jeez, please tell me it's not back up in P.T.'s office again."
Sam shook his head. "No, it's-"
"-oh god, it's the boiler room, isn't it?" Dean blurted, his shoulders slumping in despair.
"How did you know that?" asked Sam, blinking in surprise.
"Oh come on, even I've seen the occasional horror film, if only ironically. The monster is always in the boiler room."
~#~
It was almost too easy, thought Sam. His admin access meant he could swipe his way through each secure door until they made their way to the final destination. And there it was; a great, giant, gelatinous thing that squatted, pulsating in a large container that half-filled the room. It was connected by all manner of hoses and cables and surrounded by complex scientific-looking devices covered in flashing and blinking lights.
They both stared at it, struck dumb in wonder until Dean was able to speak. "Is that a giant brain in a bathtub?"
"Meet the real brain behind Sandover Bridge and Iron..." exclaimed an authoritative voice from behind them as three black-robe-wearing figures filed into the room.
"Is this some kinda cult?" asked Sam, crouching, readying for attack.
One of the figures threw back its hood to reveal the avuncular features of the Chief Technology Officer.
"No, but these are useful to keep the gore off your clothes," he smiled kindly, the effect ruined by the gun he kept trained on them.
"Board is in session," announced another figure in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the Chief Finance Officer.
"The brain must be fed first," said the Chief Operating Officer, easily identified by his sturdy build, but not so much by the addition of the bounded and gagged man he carried over one shoulder. He pointed at Sam and Dean. "And we may as well start with these two before moving on to the main event," he added, letting his captive drop to the ground.
The three men rounded on Sam and Dean and slowly herded them closer to the pulsating brain. Spotting his chance, Sam caught Dean's eye and motioned with his head. Dean darted to one side, twisted, turned, and then tripped over his own feet and went sprawling into the CTO, knocking him face-first into the vast vat of goo. There was a terrible sucking-squelching sound as the man was quickly absorbed into the mound of pudding-like flesh.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Sam shoved the CFO straight in after his colleague. Sam and Dean turned just in time to see the bound man kick out and send his captor flailing into the same fate as the others. A moment later, three picked-clean skeletons bobbed their way to the surface.
"Well, isn't that just like corporate America? It eats you up and then spits you out," observed Sam. He blushed in the face of Dean's astonished expression. "Dude, you're not the only one to try to deal with stress by using humor!"
At the muffled complaints from the captive, they rushed over to release the man from his bonds.
"Urgh, this has got to be the worst job interview I've ever encountered," complained the man, brushing himself down. "I knew I should have started my own business rather than trying to run someone else's."
"Who are you?" asked Dean.
"Richard Roman, but everyone calls me Dick," said the man, introducing himself with a smile that put Sam to mind too much of a shark. Dick's grin stretched even wider as he gazed down at the remains of the Sandover Bridge & Iron board. "I guess that means I got the job!" He wandered over to the brain, albeit keeping a safe distance. "And my first action as CEO is to pull the plug on this project," he declared, yanking the equipment's power cable out of the wall.
"I've always wanted to stage a hostile takeover," he chuckled as the equipment's lights blinked out and the giant brain slowly stopped its pulsating and grew still. No longer drained of power, the overhead lights snapped on in a blinding intensity after the gloom of emergency power.
Dick turned to Dean. "We should do lunch sometime."
~#~
"Well, that was quite a day," said Sam, as he and Dean left Dick to his own devices and walked back to the elevator.
"It's not over yet," reminded Dean. "You've still got to fix my laptop."
"You literally just saved the new boss' life," cried Sam, rolling his eyes. "You're like the golden boy, I'm sure he'll forgive a late report."
He caved at Dean's stony expression. "Okay, okay," he cried, throwing his arms in the air. He marched into Dean's office and over to the recalcitrant device.
Dean watched in anxious awe as Sam gave the laptop what looked to him like some sort of Vulcan nerve pinch and it leaped back into life. He practically shoved Sam out of his seat and started up the word processor, his last document springing into life. His eyes roamed frantically over the document and he visibly paled.
"It's not all here. This is from hours ago," he moaned.
"Wait, let me see," instructed Sam, tilting the device toward him.
Dean visibly tensed, only to slump bonelessly in resignation. "If you can get it back, I suppose it's worth it," he cringed.
"If you saved on the cloud, it would've saved all the changes," Sam tutted but carried on clicking away into various folders. "You just need to get back to the autosave; it's normally every ten minutes... ah, here it is."
"Oh, thank god," sighed Dean, visibly swaying in his seat with relief.
"Wait, what is this? This isn't a report," said Sam accusingly. He read aloud the contents of the screen:
Dean's limpid orbs blinked owlishly as he turned back to stare over the magnificent, gigantic feather-plumed wings that now protruded from between his shoulder blades. "I feel like we're connected, on a deep, profound level," he rasped lowly, the enormous appendages flexing out behind him, rising and falling in time with his words.
Sam could scarce bring himself to look away from the spectacle. On one level, he was dazzled and overjoyed by the sight, but the ultimate truth of the situation burned to the very core of his soul. "It was I," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "I read from the ancient grimoire and now you're bound to me as my familiar."
Dean's refined, but masculine, features twisted in fury. "But that means-"
Sam hung his head in shame, his long, luxurious locks hanging down around his face like a curtain, unable to look at the elder. "Yes, we are now one soul for all eternity!"
Dean silently mouthed the last line of dialogue in time with Sam's reading before returning to chewing on his nails. "So, what do you think?"
"Well, it's certainly something!" said Sam, looking equally measures confused and stunned.
Dean sighed in relief. "I kinda diverted quite significantly from canon, and I wasn't sure how the concept of familiars would go over with the readers."
"Oh, so this is like Supernatural?" asked Sam with growing comprehension. "Yeah, it's funny now, but I kinda got a bit confused 'cause they're a Sam and Dean too," he added with some relief.
"You're a fan?" asked Dean nervously.
"Yeah, man, I love those books. I've got the whole set!" said Sam excitedly. "So what, you're writing your own version?"
"There's a writing challenge, it's due on Friday."
"Hmm, well you know if you need someone to proofread for you?"
"Really?"
"Sure. Hey, you know, there's a convention coming to town in a couple of months and I was thinking of checking it out... if you're interested?"
Dean looked at him as if suspicious he was being played. His features softened. "That sounds... awesome."
"Hey, wouldn't it be cool if we, like, went in character?"
"What, cosplay?" Dean considered the idea for a moment. "I'd want to go as Sam though, he's my favorite."
Sam scoffed, "Yeah, makes sense, I might work tech support, but you're kinda the nerd, I guess. But sure, I'm cool with that. I think I'm a bit more headstrong than you, anyway, so that makes me more a Dean." His chuckle of amusement gave way to a violent, full-bodied shiver.
Dean gulped with nerves. "What is it? Not another haunting?"
"Nah," said Sam, visibly relaxing. "It's just when I said my name was Dean, I got the weirdest sense of déjà vu." He gave himself a shake and changed the subject. "So, anyway, are you gonna stay here now and finish your story?"
Dean looked at his watch. "No, I'm actually supposed to be going for a drink with the new guy in accounting." He paused. "Did you want to come?"
Sam snorted. "Nah, I wouldn't want to play third wheel," he added with a faint leer.
"Hey, it's not like that, I don't swing that way," protested Dean.
Sam's raised one skeptical eyebrow and his lips twitched. "Yeah, right," he agreed in an ambivalent tone. "Anyway, I need to take a rain check," he added, checking his wristwatch. "I'm supposed to be on a date tonight with Ruby from Sales and Marketing, so I better get a move on." He gave a feral grin and wiggled his eyebrows for effect. "Wish me luck," he called with a cheery wave as he made his exit.
It was Dean's turn to scoff, albeit to himself. "Ruby? She'll eat him alive! Hmm, that actually gives me an idea for another story," he muttered, rubbing his hands together as he turned back to the computer.
THE END