Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

They arrived at the Carrie matinee on Saturday to find a line at the box office. The pale woman selling tickets looked familiar, but Sam couldn't put a name to her—or even the circumstances under which they could have met—even after she sold them their tickets.

Mary had apparently taken Castiel shopping because he looked ready for Book of Mormon tryouts in a short-sleeved business shirt and tie. He didn't quite match Sam and Dean's own outfits, but it was close enough that they looked like they belonged together.

Mary herself had found something tasteful and uncharacteristically feminine.

"It was the only thing I could find that didn't have a flower print on it," she snapped before either of them had said a thing. Yeah, Dean definitely got his chick-hangup from Mom.

"It looks…" The next word on Dean's lips was almost certainly intended to be flattering, but Mary glared at him and Dean continued, "very practical. Come on, Sammy. Let's get popcorn."

"Sam," Sam corrected, blushing slightly.

Dean shot Sam a bemused look over his shoulder as he headed for the snack bar.

Streamers and balloons framed the snack bar's price list and someone had cut out mismatched construction paper to spell out PROM '76 with a smattering of glitter for that extra class.

Krissy Anne was back behind the counter making daiquiris as fast as she could along with another woman that Sam did not recognize. Her hair was tied up into two… ponytails? ponypuffs? ponyfros? He'd lay odds that Dean would call them ponyfros, but it would be rude to ask within earshot. A small Asian woman was selling popcorn.

Suddenly it clicked. "Vivian?"

"Yeah?" she said suspiciously and then it clicked for her too. "FBI dude?"

"Wait," Dean said, "was that White Ashley at the ticket counter?"

"Her thesis… it wasn't that great. Yeah. She's stuck down here for at least one more semester and her parents are 'not paying for that shit'."

"So, her fall-back plan is to pay for a semester of college by working at the movie theater?" Sam asked skeptically.

"She's not majoring in math," Vivian said.

"Let's keep it moving," the other woman said. "You can chat with your friends after everyone in line has been served."

Vivian had a MY NAME IS sticker on her shirt with her name written in with a Sharpie. This woman had an engraved brass pin that spelled out TANYA.

"You're the old manager," Dean said. "Sophie mentioned you."

Tanya didn't pause in filling daiquiri orders, each with a generous helping of rum, but she nodded. "We tried to get Sophie back, but she was pretty adamant. She had a list. That's how we ended up with these two." She waved vaguely at Vivian with the implication that White Ashley was included.

"How'd they win you back?" Sam asked Tanya.

"Carl, bless him, worked some sort of deal with the owner, old Mr. Price. If we can do better sales yesterday and today than we did on the average Friday and Saturday under Andrew Price, then young Mr. Price is out and I'm back in with full management authority and a pay raise. Based on last night's tallies, I think we've already kicked his butt. However, some people," Tanya side-eyed Krissy Anne as she said it, "are a little nervous about this matinee. So, let's just say we aren't counting any chickens."

"You'll want to get in there if you want to sit together," Vivian said. "It's filling up fast. We charged $20 for the reserved Death Seats and they still sold out first thing."

"C'mon, Sam," Dean said. "Let's go watch Sissy Spacek get bloodied up."

They grabbed their popcorn and fountain drinks and went in. Vivian hadn't been kidding about the place filling up. Sam and Dean managed to get seats together in the very last row where they could keep an eye on the rest of the house.

Mary and Castiel walked in a few moments later, each carrying a pink daiquiri, and they had to sit off to the side in order to stay together.

The Festival hadn't had an update in, likely, ever and there were no cupholders in the armrests. Everything would have been fine with one hand for the popcorn and one hand for the soft drink, but Dean slipped his arm around Sam's shoulders. Since he no longer had a hand free for popcorn, Dean ignored the bucket in his lap and kept trying to snag Sam's popcorn straight from his hand. Quite recently that would have been merely gross and annoying, but there was no longer anything remotely innocent about Dean's tongue making contact with his skin.

"Dude! Quit it!"

Dean huffed, but before he could vocally protest, a stranger took the seat on Dean's other side and a moment later a woman sat down next to Sam. It was literally a full house. Dean sulkily retracted his arm and ate his own popcorn.

The house lights dimmed and just when a preview would have started at any other theater, a voice filled the house, surprising everyone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the familiar voice intoned as Carl did his best announcer shtick over the sound system. "Welcome to the show you've been waiting for. The Saturday matinee at The Festival. One question remains: will you make it out alive?" A cackle worthy of Vincent Price echoed through the space as everyone cheered.

"Carl is some kind of mad genius," Dean said as the film rolled.

Sam kept having to remind himself to pay attention to the other people in the theater and not the film itself or the hunter at his side. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he could make out all the shapes, each person lit by the flickering images on the screen.

Sam paused with a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth when the period blood scene started. He always forgot about that scene even though he was sure it was the setup for the finale. The later pig's blood scene only made sense as a public mocking of this moment.

"Girls are metal," Dean whispered as he continued to chomp popcorn without pause. Sam had to shush him. They were used to watching movies together in motel rooms where a running commentary was not only allowed but actually appreciated.

Almost everyone sat transfixed, startling and screaming as one as Carrie's telekinesis grew. Trivial moments like shattered lightbulbs and flying ashtrays were still good for an effective jump scare. That included Dean who had a tendency to cling during scary movies in complete contrast to his reaction to threats in real life.

Sam flattered himself that Dean was just looking for an excuse to cuddle, but one yelp of surprise—as Carrie shattered a mirror with her mind—felt quite genuine as Dean spilled popcorn all over the sticky floor. Dean didn't play games with food.

One older guy seemed to nod off during one of the non-screamy scenes and Sam was worried until his female companion elbowed him awake.

A few seats to their left a couple of teenagers starting making out. The middle-aged woman between Sam and them tried to protest only to be laughed at. Sam flashed his badge and suggested they leave. They left.

The woman also left, but she returned a few minutes later with a large popcorn that she offered Sam for his chivalry. Since Dean had already inhaled half of their popcorn and spilled the other half, he gratefully accepted and they got to watch the last half of the movie with a full bucket of popcorn which pretty much never happened.

Dean rested a hand on Sam's knee and Sam had to remove it and will away the resulting boner. When Dean tried again, Sam elbowed him and whispered, "Later!" The poor lady next to him had already had to deal with one pair of horndogs. She didn't need another.

The film ended without incident—Dean didn't even spill any popcorn during the final prom scene since they all knew that was coming, but they both jumped during the fake-out nightmare scene at the very end—and they held their breath, at least figuratively, while the house lights came up. Carl himself came down to walk the aisles and check for any extra patrons left behind. He tsked at the excessive distribution of popcorn around Sam and Dean.

"That was all him," Sam insisted.

"Traitor," Dean muttered.

Castiel assured them that he had sensed nothing amiss, but they didn't fully relax until verifying with their own eyes that every single seat was corpse-free.

"Yes!" Carl shouted.

They walked back out to the lobby just as White Ashley was saying, "It was a research paper. I had all my research. Everything was highlighted. My thesis advisor approved my annotated bibliography months ago. Writing it was just a technicality. He claimed it was just a summary, a 'surface review'. That I 'clearly didn't put in the time to do a deeper analysis'. What does that even mean?"

"That you cobbled it together in one weekend while strung out on Red Bull?" Vivian suggested.

"And then he had the gall to use Google Docs against me. He looked at the creation date on the file," White Ashley whined. "That's discriminating against people who are smart enough to write fast."

"So, what did we learn from this?" Tanya said.

"That I should create a blank file at the start of the semester so he can't snoop on me this time."

Tanya turned to Vivian, "Please get us Sophie back. I'm not keeping this one. She's dumb as rocks."

There was another man standing at the edge of the lobby and, for quite awhile, Sam dismissed him as a straggler who was just taking his time leaving. He was a young skinny kid in a t-shirt and jeans, looking shy and awkward. Sam was completely taken aback when Dean approached him, "Well, Mr. Price, looks like the curse is broken."

"Yeah. Carl told me I fucked up. I guess it was all my fault?"

"Kinda," Dean agreed.

"But not on purpose," Sam added. "You didn't know."

"But now you do," Dean said. "So, no more magic spells, okay?"

"Okay."

"Was there something else?"

Price turned towards Tanya. "So, are you hiring?"

"You? Oh, hell no."

"Oh. I just thought…"

"Just get out."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mary's phone started singing and Sam froze, half-expecting bad news.

She stepped out of earshot of everyone who knew her as Agent Harry before answering.

"Detective Jett," Mary answered. "Uh-huh. Okay. No. Quite sure. Really. Sir, I am absolutely positive that your neighbor's barking dog is not a matter for the Homicide Division. I don't know. You could try Animal Control. That's not really my department. Have a nice day."

They walked out of the theater chuckling. There was nothing quite as uplifting as a hunt successfully wrapped up, with all the survivors more or less psychologically unscarred.

"Race you back to Kansas?" Mary said as they approached her car. The parking situation being what it was, the Impala was another two blocks down, which would have given her a significant head start.

"Can I drive?" Castiel asked cheerfully, no obvious source for his unwarranted optimism.

"No," Mary said.

"Okay." He didn't look that disappointed.

"If Castiel drives," Dean said, "I'll give you a full hour head start."

Castiel perked up again, but Mary shook her head.

"No race," Sam said, firmly. "Dean and I are stopping in Weeki Wachee to see the mermaid show."

"Really?" Dean said.

"I pinky swore," Sam reminded him. "I am a man who stands by his pinkie swears."

"Gotta love a man who stands by his pinkie swears."

"Get a room," Mary muttered under her breath.

"If we're not racing back to Kansas, can we stay here a few more days?" Castiel asked Mary.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"I'm not sure you realize this," Castiel said, "but Nicky thinks you're very cute."

"I thought she liked you," Mary said.

"Yes," Castiel said beaming.

"Get a room," Dean groaned.

"That was the plan, yes," Castiel said. "And if you say 'TMI', you're a hypocrite."

"He's got a point," Sam said.

"Whatever," Dean said. "See you around then."

Mary waved and hopped into the driver seat and she and Castiel drove away.

"How is this our life?" Dean asked as they walked down the sidewalk to the car.

Sam had no answer, so he just slipped his arm over Dean's shoulder as they walked and Dean went silent for the last block as well.

They'd carefully prepped the car this time. All the windows had been left open a crack and they'd put white towels over the steering wheel and the vinyl seats. And they still had to stand on the sidewalk for a few minutes while they let the car's fans blow the hot air out of the car. The AC wouldn't really kick in until they were a mile or so down the road.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam repeated, no idea what Dean was asking about.

"That look on your face. You're up to something."

"I'm not up to anything," Sam said, but he realized even as he said that he was grinning even wider. "I'm just… happy."

"Cool." Dean smiled at him shyly and added, "I'm happy too."

"Let's go see some mermaids," Sam said.

They tossed the towels into the backseat and got in the car. Dean pulled away from the curb and Baby purred down the road.