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"Deeeeeeeeeeean Winchesteeeeeeeeeeeeeer."
Dean opened his eyes, saw Sam standing at the end of his bed, saw the bad seventies wall paper through Sam, blinked twice, turned his head, saw Sam sleeping in the other bed, and frowned. "What the fuck?"
The translucent Sam looked mournfully down at him. "In life I was your partner, Sam Winchester."
Heart pounding, Dean checked the other bed again. "You're not dead! I can see you breathing. And..." He paused to listen, his heart slowing to a more normal speed. "...you're snoring."
Translucent Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look just go with it, okay? Or we'll be at this all night."
"Is this a dream?"
"It's more of an extended metaphor."
"It's two bean burritos right before bed," Dean muttered, plumping up a pillow and getting comfortable. "All right. Let me have it."
It turned out to be a lot of howling and flashing lights. His subconscious wasn't blowing the budget on special effects; that was for damned sure. Dean scratched at a healing gash on his right arm, checked that the real Sam was still asleep, and waited for things to calm down.
Translucent Sam looked a bit put out. "Why do you not fear me, oh Hunter with the worldly mind?"
"Jesus, who writes your dialogue? Never mind." He raised a hand, cutting off an answer he was pretty certain he wouldn't care about. "I don't fear you because one, you look like my brother and he's about as scary as a puppy in a basket and two, I've destroyed scarier things than you before my first coffee. Hell, during my first coffee."
"I have come with a warning."
"Yeah, well, if it's about the bean burritos, I worked that out on my own."
Reaching behind him, Translucent Sam pulled up a sizable chain loaded down with weapons of every shape and size. "The chain you bear was as long and heavy as this when I... uh..." He glanced over at the solid version of Sam Winchester still snoring in the other bed. "...when I went to sleep," he continued, "and it has grown longer since."
Dean checked his watch. "Dude, that was about forty-seven minutes ago."
"Fine, so it hasn't grown much longer but it's grown! Okay? I mean for fuck's sake, Dean, could you just once go along with something I want?" Translucent Sam's brows drew down. "Don't even say anything, okay? Because you're just going to piss me off." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, clearly making the best of a bad situation. "You have one chance to escape my fate."
"And what fate would that be? The whole whiny no one ever does what I want even though we haul ass across country every time you get a god damned headache? That fate?"
Translucent Sam's brows were still down. "You done?"
"For now."
"Fine. You will be visited by three ghosts." He paused.
Dean scowled at the gash on his arm. "Does this look like its getting infected to you?"
"You're supposed to protest."
"About?"
"The ghosts."
"Yeah, yeah, three ghosts. Business as usual. Seriously, does this look red and puffy?"
"No!"
"You didn't even look."
"And yet I saw it!"
"Yeah, well, you'll be sorry if my arm falls off." Dean poked at the skin a few more times and looked up to see Translucent Sam scowling at him. "What?"
Translucent Sam sighed and disappeared, his voice lingering. "Expect the first when the bell tolls one."
"What bell?"
Across the parking lot of the motel, the bell in the tower of the Second Church of Christ Redeemer by the Lake began to toll.
"Oh, that bell." Dean's eyes narrowed as a white light began to grow over by the bathroom door. Soon he could make out pale features, huge dark eyes, and billowing drapery. Biting off a curse, he rolled sideways and grabbed the shotgun tucked under the edge of the bed.
"I am the Ghost of..." the ghost began.
He let it have both barrels.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Dean! What the hell?!"
Dean glanced over at the other bed, the moonlight more than enough to show him Sam was awake now, eyes wide, his hair sticking out in a multitude of directions, sitting up with a Glock in one hand. "Ghost," he said as if that would explain everything.
And it did.
"In the room?"
"In the room."
"Did you get it?"
Nodding toward the pattern the rock salt had blasted into the wallpaper, Dean grinned. "Do you even need to ask?"
"You think they'd give it a rest on Christmas Eve," Sam muttered, shoving the gun under his pillow and collapsing back against the sagging mattress. "What time is it?"
"Just after one."
"Think it's safe to go back to sleep?"
"I'm on it."
"I could..."
"I've got it, Sam." Dean tucked the reloaded shotgun back in its place, punched the pillows into a semblance of fluff, and pulled the blanket up. With any luck the other two ghosts would be smart enough to pass on by. "God bless us all, every one," he snorted. Belched. And tasted bean burrito.