For mabel-but-slytherin, the pioneer of this crossover, because she is so incredibly inspiring and also patient with my extended failure to follow up on my promise of further superfalls fics, aha.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah, my friend!
Post Weirdmaggedon, pre Mystery Spot, with no spoilers for either show.
Never Mind All That
December 24, 2016
Dean relaxed as they passed over the Oregon border, tension draining from his shoulders and neck as he turned the music up a notch and pressed down a little further on the pedal until they were zooming down the highway.
They left a clean hunt behind them in Washington. The small woodland town was now supernatural-pesk free, they only had a handful of bruises between them to show for it, and local law enforcement was none-the-wiser. All in all, it was a good day's work.
And now they were on the open road. Which was, however, very open. It twisted and turned between hills and forests, and they passed plenty of semis, but very few rest stops.
They'd already snacked on beef jerky and Pringles cans throughout the afternoon instead of stopping for a real lunch. When Dean's stomach gave a particularly loud rumble, then, Sam raised an eloquent eyebrow and Dean threw on a grin and began looking for exits.
He pulled off the highway about half an hour later, figuring that they would come upon a town with an actual restaurant before long. The roads here were narrower, windier, and didn't have a posted speed limit. Dean cruised easily around curves, keeping an eye out for signs of civilization.
They drove for miles, seeing nothing but trees and the last few blinding spears of sunlight that shot across the road whenever they turned west until they disappeared and the darkness set in.
As they continued driving deeper and deeper into the forest, Sam wondered if they weren't going away from civilization instead of toward it, but Dean pursed his lips and kept going.
Within half an hour, signs for "hidden drives" started appearing on the side of the road.
With a final curve, they saw a valley below them, full of twinkling street lamps.
"See?" Dean said with a grin. "Told you," he said, reaching out to turn the music back down now that Sam would start acting as lookout for food as well.
As they wound their way down the hillside, Dean realized that it was getting pretty late and the roads were badly lit. But there was a town nearby, at least, which would hopefully have a diner open at all hours. Especially in logging country. They'd passed the semis with open beds of entire pine trees strapped together and loggers plus truckers plus logging truckers meant that there had to be places along the road that catered to their odd hours.
Hopefully, the town would also have a place to stay. Something this far out of the way definitely wouldn't have a hotel, but it still might have a motel. If not, Dean wasn't averse to chugging out a few more hours to find a room, although he wasn't sure they'd be likely to find a town with a larger population very soon.
Their other solution would be parking under the stars. There wasn't too much light pollution, up here in the northwestern states. Good for lying out on the hood to stargaze.
They'd had enough roughing it on their last case, but Dean didn't think he'd really mind if it came down to one more night of it. At least they'd have the car, this time. And Sam certainly wouldn't mind. It was still early enough in the fall that the September air was cool but not yet unbearable without the Impala's heater chugging to keep them from freezing.
Well, they had their backup plan, anyway, but hopefully they wouldn't need it.
As they got nearer to the town, however, the road became more gravelly, which didn't bode well. After turning onto the main street, though, Dean realized it wasn't nearly as bad as they feared. In fact, the street was about a smooth a ride as they'd had all day. And while it was a quaint town, the street was well lit and the stores lining either side of the main drag looked modern and well kept enough.
A few blocks further down was a gigantic log-like trailer with homely yellow light spilling out of its many windows. Bingo.
Sam grimaced as they pulled into the gravel parking lot outside The Greasy Spoon Diner. While most mom and pop diners were certainly full of greasy fried food, most of them didn't make a point of advertising the fact in the name of their establishment.
There were plenty of other cars in the lot, though, which meant that it was either a decent restaurant or the only one around for miles. They couldn't be sure which, yet.
Once inside, they saw the place was surprisingly crowded for this time of night. At least half of the booths were occupied by lumberjacks, truckers, or what appeared to be the local color.
Dean purposefully crossed the floor and claimed an empty booth in a strategic location, giving them sightlines to both doors as well as a look through the kitchen window. He had already pulled out the stained cardstock menu out of the condiment tray before Sam slid in across from him.
There appeared to be only one waitress on duty, but it wasn't long before they were able to slip in an order for tea and coffee as she passed by breathlessly asking what they'd like to drink.
She returned with two chunky mugs and a single carafe of black coffee which she poured into each of the cups. Dean opened his mouth to correct the order when, glancing to Sam, he saw his brother shaking his head minutely before picking up his coffee. Dean waved his hand, saying, "Never mind," but the waitress was already gone.
"Good thing you're okay with coffee, then," he said, dragging the bowl of creamers over toward them until it rested in front of Sam.
Several minutes later, it seemed that the waitress finally had some room to breathe, and she came back to their booth, flipping to a fresh page on her pad as she asked, "So, what can I get for you boys?"
"Things going well? Seems you're pretty busy tonight, huh… Susan?" he asked, with a glance to her name tag.
She waved a dismissive hand at the small talk. "Oh Never mind about all that. Now, what'll it be?"
Dean nodded to himself and laid his menu down on the table, instead asking what she suggested.
"Well," she drawled, "the house specialty is my coffee omelet, if I do say so myself."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, wondering how and why a coffee omelet would be a permanent item on a menu, let alone the house specialty.
"Is that so?" he asked. "At night?"
"Yep," she popped, rocking back on her heels once. "All day breakfast," she answered by way of explanation. "But the coffee omelet sure is a favorite around here," she said proudly. "Because of the… special ingredient," she imparted in a stage whisper.
"The coffee?" Sam asked with a grin.
Her one good eye flew wide in surprise as she stared at him. "Why yes, how… how did you know?" she asked, shock and awe clearly visible across her features.
Dean coughed discreetly into the crook of his arm to cover his laugh.
Sam tried to school his face as he looked up at her innocently. "Lucky guess, I guess?" he managed to say with a straight face and a modest shrug.
"I'll have one of those," Dean interrupted, before Susan could say whatever it was that was about too come out of her mouth. "With a side of bacon and sausage. And potatoes," he added as an afterthought, before tucking the menu back into place on the edge of the booth.
"And I'll have the sunrise skilled," Sam tacked on his order before slipping his menu in beside Dean's.
"Alright," she hummed as she jotted down the last of the order on her pad, all business again. "A special with a side of pig, guts, and spuds, and a crack of dawn," she said, translating their order into a language only she knew. "Coming right up!"
Sam and Dean both stared after her with raised eyebrows until she disappeared into the kitchen.
"Well," Dean said, pulling a face before reaching for his coffee. "Crack of dawn is just about right," he said with a grin to Sam, who was stifling a yawn behind his hand. "Didn't get enough beauty sleep on the way, huh?"
Sam made a face, but followed it up with a swig of coffee that Dean noted was not as pale as it normally was.
"Maybe you should have gotten the coffee omelet," he ribbed. "Perk you up a bit."
Sam stared at him in disbelief. "No, no that's alright," he was quick to shut down the offer. "I think you can keep the… secret ingredient omelet."
Dean grinned and eased himself back into the worn booth seat, taking in the atmosphere of the place in between sips of coffee. Sam absentmindedly fiddled with the empty lids of his coffee creamers.
It turned out that not only was Susan the only waitress on duty, she was also needed in the kitchen as well. Dean could see her through the window, measuring out heaping portions of ingredients.
When the booth behind Sam finally emptied, he reached a hand over to grab a copy of the local paper that had been left on the table. He didn't have much of a chance to look through much of it before Susan came back, arms full of plates with their steaming breakfast.
She deposited the plates none too gently on the tabletop. "Crack of dawn for you," she said, sliding the golden skillet-on-a-plate to Sam. "And a house special for you," she said, with what might have been a wink at Dean. It was hard to tell with one eye permanently closed.
Sam watched in amusement as Dean dug into the sausage first, then the potatoes, and then a strip of bacon. Finally, under Sam's look, he sheepishly turned to his omelet, taking a tentative first bite.
He chewed in silence a little longer than he needed to, then made a show to swallowing, but cracked a grin and decided it wasn't bad. Sam raised an eyebrow and stared between him and the coffee strewn egg concoction doubtfully.
"Want some?" Dean offered brightly.
Sam shook his head quickly, before huffing a laugh and started on his own food.
When Susan returned to ask how everything was, Dean gave her overenthusiastic praise about the omelet while Sam smiled fondly at his brother.
They ate in a comfortable silence, having their mugs refilled by Susan as she rushed from person to person. Eventually, they made it through their meals, pushing back their plates and settling back into the booths to sip from their mugs and appreciate the relative calm.
When Sam gave another stifled yawn, and Dean followed suit, Dean checked his watch and decided it was probably time to start heading out. Wrestling one of their many fake credit cards out of his back pocket, he waved at Susan to come over and collect it when she was free.
She topped them both off with some dark steaming coffee before setting the carafe on the table and pulling a black plastic tray out of her apron. She found their sheet on her pad, tore it off, and handed it off to Dean.
It was quieter now— the place had mostly emptied out and she was free to spend some time talking with them as Dean settled up.
"So what brings you boys to town?" she asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity now that she had the leisure to strike up a conversation.
"Just passing through," Sam smiled politely at her as Dean slid the card into the tray and held it out again.
"Just passing through, huh?" she asked, taking the check.
"That's right," Dean said. "Actually, we're looking for a place to stay for the night. There a motel in town?"
"Sure," Susan was quick to reply. "Just on the edge of town. Can't miss it. Ron'd be happy for the guests. Haven't had any in a while. Because of the…" she said before breaking off abruptly, clutching the black tray to her chest.
Sam and Dean exchanged a different kind of look this time.
"Because of…?" Dean carefully prompted.
"Oh," she huffed, making a valiant effort to gain control over herself again. "Never mind all that," she said with a laugh that was too big. And then she disappeared to run the card.
"That was…" Sam said, tentatively.
"… odd?" Dean finished for him. "Yeah…" he said, watching Susan at the cash register. "Starting to wonder if I want to stay at this motel after all," he muttered, reaching for his coffee. "Wonder if it's bedbugs…" he offered.
"Or roaches," Sam countered.
Dean made a face.
"We've stayed in worse," Sam shrugged.
"True," Dean accepted with a tilt of his head.
When Susan returned, she had a bright smile on her face. "Here you go, sweetie," she said, handing the card and receipt back to Dean, who quickly signed a name that was not his own.
"It's really too bad you're not sticking around, though," she said, as she picked everything up again.
"Why's that?" Dean asked, looking at Sam.
"Well, you'll miss the Mystery Shack, of course!"
"Mystery Shack?" Dean asked skeptically.
"Yeah," she said, perking up a bit. "Quite the tourist attraction."
"Is that so?" Sam asked politely.
Susan nodded enthusiastically. "Draws people from all over the country," she said. "I'm sure you've seen the bumper stickers!" she said, looking between them. But in decades of crisscrossing the entire country by car, Dean could not for the life of him say that he'd ever seen a bumper sticker for a Mystery Shack, let alone the one in a Podunk little down in the middle of nowhere Oregon.
"Anyway, lots of strange things happen at the Mystery Shack," she said, as if they had come there because of the innumerable bumper sticker advertisements. "Things that… cannot be explained…!" she said in a wavering voice as she wiggled her fingers at them.
The Winchesters blinked up at her for a moment.
"Well…" Dean said, breaking the awkward silence that had descended. "I think we've had enough of that for a lifetime," he said decisively, as he pushed up from his seat.
"Thank you, Susan," he said, and she blushed. "It's been lovely and your omelet is great, but, uh, we're gonna head out now. Been a long day," he said with a tight smile.
"Oh, okay," she replied, sounding disappointed that. "Well, you boys take care now!" she said, as Sam followed suit, pushing up from the cracked vinyl and taking the newspaper with him.
"You too," Sam told her before they pushed out the door and escaped into the open night air.
Sam stretched and yawned as they walked to the Impala. Dean paused before getting in once he got a good look at the streetlamp lit roads below and realized that nearly half of them seemed to have orange cones or barriers across them.
"That's weird," he muttered.
"Think we can still get to the motel?"
Dean nodded and Sam wasn't surprised. Dean seemed to be able to get anywhere that he needed to be. "Looks like they're resurfacing half of the roads at the same time."
"Yeah," a gruff voice cut in from beside them and they turned to see a burly redheaded man in flannel and denim. "There's been a lot of that going on the past few weeks. Lots of construction. All over town."
"That's not very efficient," Sam laughed.
The man shrugged. "Necessary, though."
Sam and Dean both frowned. "Why?"
The man just shook his head. "Never mind all that," he said, and walked toward the Greasy Spoon.
Sam and Dean both froze in place at the phrase, suddenly realizing that it wasn't just their waitress' catchphrase of choice. This was something bigger. This was something…
This was their kind of something, they realized, prickles running up their spines.
AHHHHHHH for those of you looking for more of this, mabel-but-slytherin wrote a sequel, entitled Never Mind the Con!