![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianTitle: A Haunting on Pennsylvania Avenue, 7/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural/The West Wing
Rating: PG
Characters: Ensemble
Spoilers: None so far
Summary: So, Margaret was right about the salt.
In the briefing room, a ludicrously tall young man was wandering up and down the aisles, waving an instrument that looked suspiciously like a walkman with flashing lights attached. Leaning against the podium was another man, slightly older, talking – no, definitely flirting - with Donna Moss. Josh’s eyes narrowed.
“Hey, Dean, Sam,” he called out. “I’ve got the rest of the gang here. Listen, Dean, you’re a Republican, am I right?” Dean Winchester looked slightly taken aback by the question, and shrugged.
“Politics isn’t really my thing. It’s not like I vote.” Josh grinned, and looked pointedly at Donna.
“Not your type,” he said, dimples flashing. Donna scowled.
“So, about this…”
“Wait a minute!” It was Toby. “You don’t vote? Not only are we trusting two kids called Dean and Sam…”
“I think I should really point out that my name is Sam too,” said Sam, only to be promptly ignored.
“…But we’re trusting two kids called Dean and Sam who can’t even be bothered to vote?”
The younger man, whom logic dictated must (also) be Sam, tentatively raised his hand. “I voted.”
CJ stepped in. “As much as I am enjoying this crazy macho posturing you guys have got going – and believe me, it’s always a joy – can we please get to the reason we’re here? There’s only so long I can keep the press out of this part of the building before they start eating their young. Or me.”
Young Sam waved his gadget at them. “We’re picking up strong traces of EMF in here. It’s all over the building, but strongest here, so it’s probably where the spirit is centred.”
“EMF?” asked Leo, frowning slightly. He was out of his depth here, and didn’t like the feeling.
“Electro-magnetic field,” supplied Josh, hands on his hips, looking knowledgeable. “It’s…” Words failed him. “Yeah, I got nothing.”
“Spirits are a manifestation of energy,” explained Dean. “They give off an electro-magnetic field – it’s the best way of detecting their presence.”
Toby clutched at his head. “Spirits? Manifestations? Are you listening to this crap?” He looked as if he was good to go on for some time, when a clipboard seemed to fly out of nowhere and narrowly missed his head. Silence fell. They all stared at the clipboard where it lay, innocently, on the floor.
“Who threw that?” asked Toby eventually.
“I’m thinking that would have been a manifestation of energy,” replied Josh, craning his neck to look at the back of the room.
“There are no manifestations of energy!” shouted Toby. A second clipboard was flung forth, and this time didn’t miss.
“You might want to try telling them that,” pointed out Josh, as Toby held his head, looking not a little stunned.
“I think it might be time to get out of here,” said Dean, gesturing to the door. “Go!”
CJ twisted the handle, then again, and again. “It won’t open!” she called. Against all laws of physics, a wind had sprung up in the room, getting stronger and stronger. The air was filled with a cyclone of objects – mugs and pencils and newspapers and even a collapsible chair. Gradually, in the centre of the storm, a figure was coalescing, growing more distinct with every second, its energy seeming to pin the room’s occupants against one wall, its shape… dissipating.
The storm died down, the detritus of the press room falling to the ground. In the back, by the entrance to the press corps offices, stood Margaret, a white box in her hand.
“Margaret?” asked Leo, amazed, smoothing down his tie.
“I…” She began, looking stunned. Then she held up the box. “Salt.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Salt works?”
Dean grinned at Margaret. “Salt definitely works.”
She smiled back and nodded, victorious. “I thought it would.”
Author:
chaletianFandom: Supernatural/The West Wing
Rating: PG
Characters: Ensemble
Spoilers: None so far
Summary: So, Margaret was right about the salt.
In the briefing room, a ludicrously tall young man was wandering up and down the aisles, waving an instrument that looked suspiciously like a walkman with flashing lights attached. Leaning against the podium was another man, slightly older, talking – no, definitely flirting - with Donna Moss. Josh’s eyes narrowed.
“Hey, Dean, Sam,” he called out. “I’ve got the rest of the gang here. Listen, Dean, you’re a Republican, am I right?” Dean Winchester looked slightly taken aback by the question, and shrugged.
“Politics isn’t really my thing. It’s not like I vote.” Josh grinned, and looked pointedly at Donna.
“Not your type,” he said, dimples flashing. Donna scowled.
“So, about this…”
“Wait a minute!” It was Toby. “You don’t vote? Not only are we trusting two kids called Dean and Sam…”
“I think I should really point out that my name is Sam too,” said Sam, only to be promptly ignored.
“…But we’re trusting two kids called Dean and Sam who can’t even be bothered to vote?”
The younger man, whom logic dictated must (also) be Sam, tentatively raised his hand. “I voted.”
CJ stepped in. “As much as I am enjoying this crazy macho posturing you guys have got going – and believe me, it’s always a joy – can we please get to the reason we’re here? There’s only so long I can keep the press out of this part of the building before they start eating their young. Or me.”
Young Sam waved his gadget at them. “We’re picking up strong traces of EMF in here. It’s all over the building, but strongest here, so it’s probably where the spirit is centred.”
“EMF?” asked Leo, frowning slightly. He was out of his depth here, and didn’t like the feeling.
“Electro-magnetic field,” supplied Josh, hands on his hips, looking knowledgeable. “It’s…” Words failed him. “Yeah, I got nothing.”
“Spirits are a manifestation of energy,” explained Dean. “They give off an electro-magnetic field – it’s the best way of detecting their presence.”
Toby clutched at his head. “Spirits? Manifestations? Are you listening to this crap?” He looked as if he was good to go on for some time, when a clipboard seemed to fly out of nowhere and narrowly missed his head. Silence fell. They all stared at the clipboard where it lay, innocently, on the floor.
“Who threw that?” asked Toby eventually.
“I’m thinking that would have been a manifestation of energy,” replied Josh, craning his neck to look at the back of the room.
“There are no manifestations of energy!” shouted Toby. A second clipboard was flung forth, and this time didn’t miss.
“You might want to try telling them that,” pointed out Josh, as Toby held his head, looking not a little stunned.
“I think it might be time to get out of here,” said Dean, gesturing to the door. “Go!”
CJ twisted the handle, then again, and again. “It won’t open!” she called. Against all laws of physics, a wind had sprung up in the room, getting stronger and stronger. The air was filled with a cyclone of objects – mugs and pencils and newspapers and even a collapsible chair. Gradually, in the centre of the storm, a figure was coalescing, growing more distinct with every second, its energy seeming to pin the room’s occupants against one wall, its shape… dissipating.
The storm died down, the detritus of the press room falling to the ground. In the back, by the entrance to the press corps offices, stood Margaret, a white box in her hand.
“Margaret?” asked Leo, amazed, smoothing down his tie.
“I…” She began, looking stunned. Then she held up the box. “Salt.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Salt works?”
Dean grinned at Margaret. “Salt definitely works.”
She smiled back and nodded, victorious. “I thought it would.”
