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Who Ya Gonna Call? (PG-13) (Gen) (Sam, Dean) - Not a rock, I'm just Ruth
All Me, no apologies
Who Ya Gonna Call? (PG-13) (Gen) (Sam, Dean)
Title: Who Ya Gonna Call?
Author: Just Ruth
Recipient: embroiderama
Prompt: A case brings the guys into contact with some extended family members that we haven't met on the show.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this? Mr. Bruce Campbell was neither harmed nor inconvenienced by the making of this fan fiction
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bruce Campbell
Warnings/Spoilers: AU of 2:18 "Hollywood Babylon"
Summary: There’s something happening on the set of the movie “HellHazer II” and the Winchesters find an unexpected ally in a distant relative.
Special Thanks to: fhionnuiscetine for cheerleading and encouragement and to the mods of spn_summergen for their patience.
Word Count: 3229


Ominous creaks and groans came from the walls and floor of the old cabin. Two girls clutched each other in the center of the room.

"They're outside! I can hear them," whimpered the blonde.

"We'll never make it until dawn!" exclaimed the brunette.

"Don't worry, girls." Bruce Campbell stepped into the frame, his strong chin raised defiantly. He hefted a chainsaw. "I have it under control." He fired up the chainsaw - and vanished in a cloud of choking black smoke.

"Cut!" screamed the director. "Well, that's not going in the trailer."

The prop master claimed the malfunctioning chainsaw while the grips started three fans. Bruce stepped aside to clear his lungs as the crew rotated to film an exterior to the fake cabin. The brunette, Tara Benchley, was running around supposedly hysterical at her abandonment by her friends. Girl was no Shakespearean, but she wasn't as bad as some he'd encountered.

"Ahhh-ahhh!" Good God, that was awful. Bruce winced as McG asked her if she needed references. What she needed was a handful of ice down her back. Old trick that worked down in New Zealand. Of course, Renee O' Conner had turned and punched him in the eye afterwards; the scrappy blonde was the real warrior princess on that show.

"Bruce!" McG beckoned him over. "This is Brad Redding. He's from the main office and wants a first hand look at how we're doing."

"Glad to meet you." The handsome man in the suit was slightly less than sincere.

"Pleasures all mine." Bruce was also.

"So, listen," Redding turned. "I've been sent by the office and the dallies are just great, but we're wondering, is there any way you could make it. . ." he made a vague circular gesture. "Brighter?"

"Brighter?" McG blinked.

"You know, bring in some color. . ."

"It's a horror movie."

This was where Bruce walked away, shaking his head. Tara was standing among the fake trees with her script, running the lines again and trying for a scream. Bruce looked around for a PA to get a handful of ice. Tara looked up at the ceiling and let out a load, pure shriek that was perfect. Bruce followed her horrified gaze and saw a crew member sprawled on the catwalk with blood running from his eyes and mouth. A shadowed flickered briefly above the body.

Bruce scowled and rubbed his chin. "That's not in the script."

Title Card

"Did you know this was where they filmed Creepshow?" Dean Winchester was as wide-eyed as a child as the brothers headed for the studio where the death had taken place. Sam grunted and drove his hands into his pockets. He didn't care as long as they stayed far away from the set of "The Gilmore Girls" -- the last thing Sam needed was for Dean to see the actor Jess said was practically his twin.

"I would have thought you'd want a break," Dean complained. "I mean, come on, swimming pools, movie stars. . ."

"This feel like swimming weather to you, Dean?" Sam snapped. "Maybe I don't want a break. Maybe I want to work to keep my mind off things."

Dean would never be able to understand that - never. He just didn't care. He'd have shot Madison and banged a girl at a bar the same night. No regrets, no feelings - God, sometimes he wished he could just switch off like that.

"This way -- Stage Nine is over here." He started towards the large concrete box of the studio.

"Oh, my God!" Dean slapped his arm. "Sam, look, look!"

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed. Dean slapped him again. "Cut it out!'

"Over there! It's Bruce Campbell! Bruce Campbell!" Sam's eyes widened - did he just hear Dean squeal? "Evil Dead! Army of Darkness! The Man with the Screaming Brain! Bubba Hotep!"

"All right!" Sam yelped. "Quit hitting me! Actually, he supposedly found the body with the actress who claims she saw a ghost."

"Actress?" Boing, thought Sam with disgust - you could just see his lust antennae pop up.

"Tara Benchley."


"Hey," two scowling security guards blocked the entrance to the studio. "This is a closed set." Both men were big enough to cause some problems if push came to punch. "You aren't wearing any passes - beat it."

"Oh, that's okay!" Dean said. "We're his friends." He pointed at Bruce Campbell. "Bruce! Hey, Bruce!" he yelled and waved. Bruce Campbell stopped, looked puzzled and then waved back.

"Dean," Sam groaned, putting his hands over his face, mortified.

"Yeah, sure," said guard number one. "Do us a favor; get your asses back on the tour before you wind up in jail for trespassing."

Dean started to bristle, but Sam grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

Bruce Campbell appealed to the false night sky with his eyes. It had been another horrendous scene.

"How do the ghosts hear the chant in Hell?" asked dumb-ass the suit.

Of course the writer had to come up with an explanation. Bruce had taken one look at the page and just couldn't let stupid happen.

"I don't get it," cried the blonde actress cringing next to Tara. "How did the ghosts hear us in Hell?"

Teenage boy number two (to be killed off in another two scenes) was supposed to make an inane comment about ghosts having super-hearing, but Bruce stepped firmly on his line.

"Hell," he declared. "Exists on an alternate plane of reality, the words act as a sonic key to open the door between the dimensions. Which is why you should never go around reading old books in abandoned cabins out loud."

"Cut! That's a keeper, people!" declared McG.

"That was my line!" complained the actor.

"That was wonderful, Mr. Campbell," said the PA as he handed out Snapples to the actresses.

"That wasn't what I wrote!" the writer sputtered. "Why didn't you let Drew have the line I gave him?"

"Look, buddy, what's your name?" Bruce clenched his jaw.

"Martin Flagg." Flagg tried to clench his jaw, but it was no contest.

"Martin. How many horror movies have I starred in, written part of or produced, Martin?"

"Uh, lots."

"And how many horror films -- scratch that, how many movies period have you written?"

"Uh." Martin licked his lips and shifted uncomfortably.

"I rest my case." Bruce folded his arms. Martin started to huff, but McG quickly yelled for a scene change. Mr. Redding the suit wandered off with his phone in his ear. Bruce wandered over into 'the woods' and stood frowning at the catwalk where the body had been.

"Dunno, Sammy, I'm getting squat on the EMF."

"Shh, Dean, Be quiet!" hissed another voice behind the "brush."

"Me be quiet? You be quiet!" growled the first voice. Two young men with what looked like an EMF meter stepped through the set. "Oh My God!" yipped the shorter of the pair, his eyes huge.

"I thought the guards ran you two off." Bruce commented.

"Well, yes, Mr.Campbell," the taller of the pair shifted uncomfortably, "but we're here to investigate the death of the technician and the rumors that the set is haunted."

"Ok, sure," Bruce eyed them skeptically. "So is the set haunted?"

"Not that we can determine,"the taller shook his head. "Normally ghost activity can be detected with an EMF meter."

"I made it myself." The shorter man handed over the meter with a silly grin on his face. It looked like a homemade prop.

"Nice job, er. . ."

"Dean, Dean Winchester, sir."

"I'm Sam."

They all shook hands. Winchester? Bruce frowned. Why does that sound familiar?

"Did you know Frank Jaffrey?" continued Sam.

"His name's not Frank Jaffrey and he's not dead," Bruce handed Dean back his whatever-it-was. "I thought he looked familiar. He's Gerald St. James and he carried the Evil Ash's banner in Army of Darkness."

"So this is all a hoax?" Dean sounded disappointed.

"'Fraid so, guys," Bruce shrugged. "Dumb ass way to drum up publicity, but no one asked me. Look, you just sneak back out the way you got in and nobody gets hurt."

There was a huge crash from the set. Both actors started screaming. Bruce and the Winchesters ran back to see the body of Brad Redding dangling from a noose through the ruined "roof" of the shack. Dean's EMF meter shrilled and squealed, all its lights flashing.

"Let me guess, it just got real?" asked Bruce.

"According to what I was able to dig up on Stage Nine's history," Sam opened his laptop in the cramped quarters of Bruce's trailer. "Four people have died messy over the past eighty years. Two suicides and two fatal accidents."

"Any one of those could be a vengeful spirit." Dean observed.

"You guys make a living at this?" Bruce wondered.

"Well, yeah."

"Sort of. . ."

"Wait 'till the Raimis hear this one." Bruce rubbed his chin. "Is there any way you can tell which spirit made the suit take a swan dive?"

"Not unless there's some way to look at the footage from the scene he crashed into." Sam shook his head.

"Can do!" said Bruce. "Stay right there."

Bruce left the Winchesters watching dallies while he returned to the set. Tara was having trouble with her latest scene.

"I just can't wrap my head around the dialog," Tara complained. "I mean, salt? Doesn't that sound silly? Why would a ghost be afraid of salt?"

"Salt is a purifier in many religions - that's why evil things avoid it." Bruce expounded.

"How do you know that?" Tara challenged.

"Cut scene from The Vampire in Retreat," Bruce retorted.

"Marty?" McG turned to Martin Flagg.

"Not married to salt, what else would you want? We still sticking with condiments?"

"Idiots," muttered the PA as he handed Tara her Snapple.

McG shrugged. "What else would a ghost be scared of?"

"A shotgun?" guessed Marty.

"That makes even less sense than salt!" McG sputtered.

"Are you making fun of my boomstick?" asked Bruce with silky menace.

"No, no, no, of course not! Shotgun works, why don't we go with a shotgun?"

"Jeez," Tara sneered. "Why don't you quit and have Bruce write the movie?"

"I wish," muttered the PA behind their backs. Bruce frowned after him as he stalked away.

"Who's the guy with the attitude?" he asked.

"Him? Oh, that's Walter Dixon," Marty scribbled on the pages. "Wrote the original book. It was crap. I had to cut ninety percent to make anything out of it and another ten percent to make it good."

"Really? Think I could get a look at that?"

Bruce got back to his trailer to find a note from Sam; the ghost had been caught on film. He and Dean had gone to take care of things and would see Bruce tomorrow. A computer printer out under the note said she was an actress from the thirties named Elise Drummond. She'd had an affair with a studio exec. When the exec tired of the affair, he fired her. She hanged herself in the studio - her body dropping down into a scene being filmed.

Take care of things? Do I even want to know? Bruce sat down. He jumped straight up again -- suddenly remembering his father telling a story.

"He said it was 'taking care of things,' his father said. "We went to the cemetery, dug up the old grave, sprinkled it with salt and burned it. Your grandfather had a fit and I never saw cousin Sam again."

"But what happened to him?" asked Bruce's older brother.

"That's all I know about him. I better not catch you kids hanging around the graveyard."

Bruce had done a little investigating on Sam Raimi's insistence that getting in an "expert" could only help their films. In 1981, during the filming of "Evil Dead" - he'd tracked down Samuel Campbell's daughter Mary. She had married a man named John Winchester and didn't know a thing about her father digging up graves so please don't call again, thank you.

Winchester? Is it possible?

He headed for his car, exchanging pleasantries with the two burly security guards. There was an odd smell in the air - a mix of sulfur and ozone that lingered bitter on the tongue. There was a static in the air; Bruce felt the hair on his neck and arms rise. The studio fans roared to life. Someone screamed. There were chopping and splattering noises that defied description. The guards drew their guns and went running. In a few moments, they were screaming too.

Sam and Dean stood with a very shaken Bruce as police swarmed the set. McG gave an awkward speech about carrying on and getting the film finished before telling everyone to go home and come back the next day.

"The producer was chopped to pieces by a giant fan? The same thing happened to an electrician back in '66, a guy named Billy Beard," Sam explained.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean shook his head. "This makes no sense. We took care of Elise. Ghosts don't tag team."

"You'd know more about that than I would," Bruce shook his head. "This just got beyond Sam Raimi crazy."

"But why are they coming back now?" Sam frowned. "It's as if some thing's calling them."

Bruce scrubbed his chin. "I wonder - you want to take a look at this? It's the original script Marty started with and got this movie deal from. There's a lot of crazy crap in it."

"Lord of the Dead?" Dean thumbed it open with Sam looking over his shoulder.

Sam whistled. "This has real necromantic rituals in it!"

"Who wrote this?" Dean demanded.

"Walter Dixon; here I thought he was only a PA."

"A what?" Sam frowned.

"Personal assistants; they're the grunts and go-fers of the set - nobody notices them and you can't run the place without them."

"Think about this, Sam," Dean turned. "Let's say Walter's pissed at these people for the wrecking his movie. He uses some of the rituals he's put in the script."

"And he gets ghosts to kill people."

"Redding and Jay were tests," Bruce mused. "Who's he going to really go after?"

"Marty Flagg," said the Winchesters together.

Bruce looked around. "Where is he?"

They ran through the darkened woods. Ahead of them, Walter stood on the stairs to the catwalk, holding a talisman and chanting in Latin. Marty Flagg was screaming as the tormented spirit dragged him towards a roaring fan. Bruce and Dean fired rock-salt filled shotguns and blew the ghost of Billie Beard to smoky shreds.

"Love my boomstick," Bruce grinned.

"Nothing better," Dean agreed.

"What are you doing?" Walter cried, backing up.

"We'd like to ask you the same thing, Walter." Sam approached him with his hands open. "What are you doing?"

"You don't understand! You put your heart and soul into something and then they crap on it!"

"I understand, kid," Bruce came forward as Dean stepped back as if reloading. "I was just a kid with a dream from Detroit. I made a movie with my friends and they dangled the dream of being a star. They chew you up and spit you out, but you know what, kid? You keep right on coming back because they can't kill what's inside you. Keep coming back - and someday they listen to you. Some day you get to stand with your chin held high and say 'Look at what I've done' and they'll never be able to take that away from you Walter."

"Yeah," Walter shook his head. "Look I've got nothing against you, Mr. Campbell. Nothing against any of you. Just go - but Martin stays."

"We can't do that, Walter," said Sam.

"Then, I'm sorry," Walter raised his talisman and began to chant again. Dean reached through the catwalk stairs and yanked on Walter's leg. Walter tumbled and landed on the talisman. It broke. Dean backed away quickly as Walter stood up, gasping for air.

"Oh," said Sam. "That's bad."

"How bad?" asked Bruce.

"He's got no way to control the ghosts now - and they aren't going to be happy." Dean said grimly.

Walter screamed and fell on his back, thrashing at unseen forces that clawed bloody trails in his flesh.

"Run!" Sam shouted. They had to haul Marty to his feet and drag him through the woods to the cabin set - which was only three walls.

"Come out to the coast!" Dean quoted Bruce Willis. "We'll get together, have a few laughs. . ."

"How many shells have we got?" demanded Bruce Campbell.

"About fifty," Dean pulled the box out of his pocket, "But how do we shoot what we can't see?"

"Working on it!" Sam pulled out his cell phone. "If they showed up on a movie camera they should . . . over there!"

Dean fired where he was pointing.

"Mr. Campbell! That way!"

Bruce fired as Dean re-loaded. Marty whimpered as Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and handed him the phone.

"Here! You take over! I'm going to read the script and hope Walter put in a way to make 'em go back where they came from." Sam fumbled through the pages as Dean and Bruce blasted away at Marty's direction. He started chanting. Three distorted figures flickered into sight before vanishing with screams of agony into a black vortex.

Marty fainted.

"And that's a wrap," said Bruce.

"So the production's closed down?" Sam asked the next day as the three heroes said their goodbyes.

"Script was just close enough to "Evil Dead" that our lawyers got pissy. Copyright infringement and all that," Bruce sighed. "I was tempted to send the Raimi brothers Walter's script but it's too dangerous - can't have the dead rising in the middle of a movie theater." He shrugged. "Poor guy, folks say this town will eat you alive; it really did eat him."

"Well, it's been a pleasure and an honor, sir." Dean held out his hand.

"Pleasure's mine, Dean," Bruce meant it as he shook hands. "Before you wander off into the sunset - I have one question."

"Yes, sir?"

"Was your mother's name Mary by any chance?"

Their eyes went wide. "Y-yes," Dean stammered.

"Her father and my father were cousins, that makes us. . ." he had to think. "Related -- sort of."

Dean looked like a little kid as his jaw dropped. Sam stuttered.

"So, call me Bruce." He grinned.
4 comments or Leave a comment
cindyg From: cindyg Date: September 8th, 2009 07:35 am (UTC) (Link)
Loved this! What's really awesome is the way you blend reality with fiction and come up with a totally natural scenario. :)
just_ruth From: just_ruth Date: September 13th, 2009 02:32 am (UTC) (Link)
Scary the way Mr. Campbell just seems to fit in, isn't it? Thank you! I'm glad you liked it.
snakewhissperer From: snakewhissperer Date: September 9th, 2009 03:45 am (UTC) (Link)
Oh very cute!
just_ruth From: just_ruth Date: September 13th, 2009 02:32 am (UTC) (Link)
Thank you!
4 comments or Leave a comment