A/N: Here it is! Please be kind—I haven't been in the fanfic world, or really written much of anything creatively, in several years. Much credit and inspiration for this (especially the title) goes to my dear friend, Ms. Wilde. I'm sort of astounded no one thought this up before us. Anyways, 20 points goes to anyone who can ID the origin of the title, 50 points for whoever can do the same for the first two words of this tale I'm about to tell (and that was an Eminem reference… I have problems). OK. I think that's about it. Enjoy!

It starts…

The Impala, headlights off, silently rolled up beside the old abandoned house just outside of Chocktaw, Nebraska. Dean swore she knew how to quiet her motor in times like these, when they didn't want to be heard; she was just that good. He twisted the key with a flick of his wrist so familiar that he never stopped to consider it, though it would probably take hours for anyone else (besides Sam, of course) to figure out how to get that goddamn piece of junk to turn off. Not that anyone who called her that would be worthy of her anyway.

He turned to Sam. "You ready?"

"Yeah, come on."

Armed with salt-filled shotguns, flashlights, and silver blades tucked under the belts, just in case, the pair climbed the porch steps and slowly opened the unlock door.

"Hello!"

A little girl, no more than five or six, with blonde pigtails smiled at them warmly from the top of the stairs. She was immaculately clean and well dressed, and seemed completely oblivious to her less-than-immaculate surroundings. Dean leaned over to Sam. "Dude, what the hell's Cindy Brady doing here?"

Sam cleared his throat to speak, but she cut him off, skipping down the stairs as she spoke, her curls bouncing and her pink skirt billowing around her legs. "I'm so glad you could make it—I was so afraid you wouldn't be able to! But now you're HERE!" She landed with a final leap from the third-to-bottom stair, beaming triumphantly up at them; her cheeks didn't seem able to properly express the utter joy she was apparently experiencing. "Now we can get started!"

Sam shared a quick glance with Dean. They had been expecting some sort of spirit, but this seemed something different entirely. "Get started with what, exactly?"

The girl paused before taking one of their hands in each of hers and looking up at them solemnly. "You have to learn."

And then the room spun.

And then the room was gone.

The boys landed with a thump on the ground and jumped immediately to their feet. "Dude, where the hell are we?" Dean, blade brandished, looked around wildly, desperately trying to get some sort of bearing.

Sam straightened up and brushed off his pants, glancing about as he did so. They seemed to have landed in the middle of some forest, though he couldn't tell where. The sky was bright blue, the grass green and just as bright. Looking closer, he noticed his jeans were now spotless and tear-free, his flannel shirt was no longer wrinkled as usual, and Dean's leather jacket had apparently been returned to its pre-scratched/faded/scuffed days. Not only that, but gazing searchingly up into the trees, he could have sworn that a squirrel had just waved at him before scrambling away.

Then suddenly he started, because he'd just realized what it was that seemed off that he hadn't been able to put his finger on.

"Dean . . . does the world seem a little . . . two-dimensional to you?"

By now Dean was pacing anxiously, frantically waving his cell phone through the air in search of service. "Sam, this is not the time for your philosophical-existentialist crap!"

Sam grabbed Dean by the back of his jacket and pulled him to an abrupt halt. "I think we're in a cartoon."