Who: Sam Winchester and THE RABID FANS. What: Victim of a deadly prank. When: Right after Dean and Claire trick him into the "Win A Mock Wedding with Sam Winchester" scenario. Where: Everywhere! He's running for his life! Rating: PG-13; narrative.
He was standing on a platform, staring off at the faces of the dozens of eager people clad in wedding attire. Hundreds of screaming women. A handful of howling men. His feet stood rooted to the ground as the coordinator latched onto his arm and began to drag him off toward the changing room. Sam followed, gaping off at the crowd as he was steered across the platform and into a tiny box of a room that they had dubbed as the quarters for the groom.
"Wait, I didn't sign up for --" Sam began, but the coordinator shoved him down into a chair and snapped his fingers.
A small flock of people instantly appeared, cramming themselves into the room with various articles of clothing and an assortment of items that Sam supposed were to be used for some form of primping. Almost at once, he pushed himself up from the chair. Half a second later? Two people were pinning him down while he was stripped from his clothes and shoved into a tuxedo of his own.
"Look, you've got the wrong idea!" Sam protested, pulling away from the two figures that were dragging him back up. "I'm not...this is...geroffa me!"
He tried to fight his way from the group that surrounded him, but it was impossible to pry his way free from the hands that were guiding him out to the stage and underneath an arch of sorts. The fans, meanwhile, began to scream. He heard many whoops of approval toward the change of attire that he'd taken on and even more screams about things that Sam would have preferred to have never heard at all. Ever.
A priest stepped before him, a broad grin stretched across his face as he gave Sam a sort of mini salute with the bible that he was clutching onto. "You must be some kinda saint, kid," he said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Good luck."
"All right! Bring the first bride on up to the stage!" People began to cheer again. Sam stared out at the crowd with wide eyes, looking off at the hundreds of flailing figures that kept trying to move their way toward the stage. Fortunately, someone had thought to hire security. They were restrained.
"Look, I'm not here to marry anyone! I'm on a case!" He was shoved closer to a microphone and his voice instantly sounded all throughout the area. People seemed to like the that 'Sam Winchester' was staying in character. They began to scream. Again. Sam instantly threw his hands up the sides of his head, attempting to block out the sounds that surrounded him. From the corner of his eye, he could see a woman clad in a white dress making her way up to the platform. She seemed to be a little more than nervous about the situation. If the circumstances had been any different, Sam might have pitied her. However, he was far too distracted with the task of pitying himself to be so concerned about anyone else.
Seconds later, she was standing right beside him. He was forced to awkwardly shake her hand. The priest veered his way back in front of Sam and he instantly began the ceremony.
"Dearly beloved..."
Sam squirmed in place, his green eyes searching for any sign of his jerkfaced asshole of a brother. None.
Dead. Dead. You are SO dead. He grit his teeth and glanced over at the crowd. God, they looked like a pack of animals just waiting to eat him alive. His gaze flickered off to a fat man packed into...holy shit, was that a wedding dress? His mouth fell open and Sam instantly staggered back in horror.
No. No way. He wasn't going to stand up here on this damned stage in this stupid tuxedo with hundreds of people gaping at him while he went through a wedding ceremony hundreds of times. It was not happening. He looked over at the younger girl standing beside him and flashed her an almost apologetic look.
"It's...ah, not you. It's me?" He shrugged a little before he turned on his heel, veered to the right, and bolted from the stage. In that moment, the crowd overpowered what little security that had been mustered for the event. The small barriers that had separated the stage area from the crowd toppled over and dozens of bodies began to tear their way after the tall figure dashing for the doors. Screaming. They were all screaming! Although, to be fair, it was more than safe to say that even Sam Winchester himself was screaming too.
Shoving the doors to the building open, Sam ran out into the parking lot and booked his way toward the spot where he knew that he'd parked his rental. He reached into his pocket for his keys and...found nothing. Sam's eyes widened in horror as he realized that his keys were in his pants and not the black one's that he had been shoved into prior to fleeing.
"No, no, no, no!" He skidded to a halt. Even though he knew that the keys weren't in the tuxedo jacket that he was wearing, he started patting at the pockets anyway. Nothing. A score of cries erupted from behind him. Sam turned his head, looking back toward the building as his heart leapt in fear. People were bursting through the doorway, all running at him in the wedding dresses (and tuxedos) that they had fitted themselves into for the ceremony.
In the back of his mind, Sam could hear it. That noise. The one that you heard when you knew that something horrible was going to happen. His? It sounded an awful lot like the two noter that made history in the Jaws flicks.
The fat man in the white dress broke through the front of the crowd. Sam might have been frozen in place before, but he sure as hell wasn't now. Body twisting around, he began to run faster than he ever had in his entire life. He dashed out into the streets and weaved his way through traffic, his heart beating faster as the roaring thunder of footsteps that pursued him grew louder and louder.
"SAM! SAAAAMMY! COME BACK! I WANT TO MARRY YOU! I WANT TO HAVE LITTLE WINCHESTER BABIES! SAAAAAM!"
Sam kept running. He pushed people out of the way, toppled over an entire popcorn stand, and nearly got hit by a series of vehicles that he ran in front of in order to get away from the dozens of people that were chasing him. It got to the point where Sam began to hurl things over his shoulder (corndogs, newspapers, little racks of clothing that were being shifted out of a drycleaning facility) in an attempt to slow the people down behind him.
But they weren't slowing down. In fact, it seemed like they were all steadily picking up on him.
"RUN!" He started to shout, shoving a man in a business suit out of his way, "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! THEY'RE COMING!"
His chest was aching. His lungs were burning. And Sam knew that if he didn't figure something out soon, he'd be screwed to hell and back. Think, think, think, he urged himself, you're supposed to be smart, you're --
"Whoa!" Sam rounded a corner and slammed into a tiny figure riding an even tinier bicycle. The handlebars clipped his knee and Sam staggered in place, but he didn't keel over entirely. Throwing an arm out, he steadied the figure on the bicycle and grimaced a little as a sharp pain ran up his leg from the impact. He glanced down at the figure -- who was actually a kid -- and glanced back over his shoulder with a look of mixed desperation and fear on his face. The fans were half a block away from him and steadily approaching.
Without giving it another thought, Sam grabbed the kid by the arm and hauled him off of the red bicycle. Then he swung a large leg over the seat and slid down onto it. The kid began to scream, but Sam wasn't even phased by it. Which was worse: a screaming kid or a screaming pack of rabid fans? That one was easy.
He looked ridiculous. The bike was miniature. Any grown man would have looked silly climbing onto it. But Sam? He was bigger than the average guy. Six foot four, broad frame, long arms and legs. If anything, he looked a whole lot like a clown riding one of those mini bikes at a circus.
I sure as hell feel like one, Sam thought to himself as he pressed down on the pedals and put all of his effort into wheeling himself as far away from the approaching fans as possible. The bike, as useful as it was to the kid, wasn't exactly something that was going to help Sam much in his case. It might have been a lot quicker for him at first, but he began to grow tired of hitting his knees against the handlebars with every push that he made against the pedals. Two blocks of that had been more than enough. He shoved the bike behind himself, hoping that it would slow the fans down a bit, before he took off running again. This time? It was with a limp.
It was time to get the hell off of the streets. He ducked into a shopping strip and threw himself into the crowds. His limp had slowed him down a bit, so the fans were close enough to keep him in check while he moved. However, after a short while he seemed to vanish within the mass of people that were already swarming about. Having all of the fans push their way into the area only made it a lot more confusing for everyone inside, especially since the fans were mixing themselves in with dozens of disgruntled shoppers.
Sam ducked into a store and latched onto one of the mannequins. Dozens of people began to stream their way by the store as Sam ducked behind the plastic figure and stood in place. They steadily moved their way past the store, fan after fan screaming his name like a bunch of deranged lunatics. It was only after a wiry looking lady in what appeared to be her fifties dashed by (she was shouting, "I want my wedding! Give me my wedding!") before Sam relaxed a little and looked up toward the ceiling with relief. His chest was heaving and his entire body slumped down against the display that he had been perched behind. He raked a hand through his hair and let his head fall back so that he could close his eyes.
"Excuse me?"
Sam frowned. "I'll get out of here in a minute, sorry. I just...I was having the hardest time..." He slowly opened his eyes.
The fat man was standing in front of him. Wedding dress flowing to the floor and tiara perched atop his head, he leaned forward and grabbed Sam by the arm. Sam tried to pull away, but the man was nearly two feet taller than he was and a whole hell of a lot bigger in size. He yanked him toward him and threw his arms around Sam, cutting off his air supply.
"You are mine and I shall call you my Sammy," he decided, planting a kiss on top of Sam's head.
Sam pressed his arms against the man's chest, squirming in his iron grip. Then he placed his palm flat against his stomach and began to focus on everything that Ruby had gone over in training. Seconds later, the fat man was flying across the room and Sam was running toward the exits. Hell no. HELL FUCKING NO. Those were his initial thoughts as he shoved his way out into the streets again, a fresh wave of fans streaking their way back toward the figure that they had momentarily thought that they'd lost.
It was going to be a long evening. One that Sam Winchester feared would never end.