Professor Delmonico put her beer to her lips. During the school year she rarely drank the brew; but whenever on a research trip during hiatus, she opted for whatever her subject pool was drinking. At the library or historical society hall it was bottled water. At the diner that meant hefty amounts coffee instead of her usual tea. Here at the pool hall/bar that meant whatever beer that was on tap instead of her preferred glass of wine.
She'd learned a long time ago that some of her usual habits didn't always work in the field. The casual business attire of a tenured university professor worked wonders on the town historian. Diner waitresses had clearly decided nice clothes, plus juicy local ghost story gossip requests, meant good tips. Bikers and truckers, however, took one look at gray slacks and a pink blouse with a string of pearls for trim and either closed down or ran her out.
When it came time to rub elbows with the rougher side of her job, her usual didn't cut it. So she sat drinking mediocre beer wearing comfortably worn jeans, t-shirt, and jean jacket. In her "interview uniform" most people here mistook her for a fellow truck driver. She'd certainly picked up enough jargon about CB radio chatter, roadway types, and diesel engines to join the conversation. Once she got them chatty, Delmonico could steer the discourse anywhere she wanted it to go.
As always, a small recorder dutifully kept record of what was said so she could get the quotes right for her next book.
Tonight looked like a night that she wouldn't have to work all that hard.
"Alright, boys and girl," a man wearing an eye patch announced grandly to his table companions, "It's that time. Fact or crap, biggest looser buys the round."
Delmonico turned to see four men and one woman sitting around a table with a bottle of decent whiskey in the middle and shot glasses stacked in a pyramid ready for use. All five participants reached for a glass.
"What's the topic today?" the youngest man (mid-twenties) asked.
"Ghosts without bones to burn?" the black man suggested.
"Nah, c'mon man, we did that month before last," the last man shook his head. He would have had a full and bushy beard if he hadn't braided it tight. "Just people acting like monsters?"
"The freakin' Winchesters!" the woman exclaimed. "We haven't done a round of Winchester stories in a long time. Not since we played, 'what dimension did Dean land in this time.'"
Delmonico perked up at her table and made sure her recorder was on and the volume turned up as high as it would go. She didn't want to miss any of this. Unaware of her excitement, the table's conversation rolled on.
Eye Patch chuckled. "Did anyone ever hear where he was? For real?"
"According to Garth, Purgatory," the youngest man answered.
The black man's eyebrows shot up. "Damn, that man doesn't do things by half, does he?"
"'Course not," Eye Patch agreed. "Delia, it was your idea. Wanna go first?"
Delia, apparently, eyed the man making the offer. "That's some backwards way of saying, 'ladies first,' is it Bo?"
Beard Braid laughed. "Aw, stuff the women's lib crap, Del. Save it for the idiot newbies who don't know any better."
Delia relaxed a bit; her smile admitting she was just messing with them. "Fine. Fact or Crap. Sam and Dean cleared out every single ghost in the Waverly Hills Sanatorium."
Delmonico jotted down the name Waverly Hills in her notebook; it sounded like a place she needed to pull some records on for her research. She'd heard of the haunted house, but it was abandoned and far enough away from people that she didn't hear that much about it anymore. She waited to hear if her Winchesters had anything to do with the place.
Meanwhile, the table cast votes.
Only the youngest at the table voted against, saying, "They're good, but they're only two guys."
Delia smirked in victory. "God's honest. I took a newbie out there, made him stand in the iron hoop so's he could get used to feeling out incoming cold spots. We stood there for hours, me feeling like a dumb-ass because nothing and nobody showed. Wanted to chew Dean out for making me look like a moron," Delia told them.
"How'd you know it was Winchesters?" the youngest demanded, not ready to give up.
Delia shrugged, "Seriously, Lindsey? Who else?"
Who else, indeed, Delmonico snickered. Now that would make a good section title. Not only did every single person at the table absolutely believe the Winchesters were real, it was as if there could be no other cause for the sudden cessation of paranormal activity. Would these people credit the Winchesters when the power company trimmed back a tree so the power lines stopped flickering?
Grumbling, the young man (Lindsey) threw a few bills on the table as everyone else threw back a shot, having accepted the answer and the explanation. Delmonico knew that the whiskey bottle would be more or less paid for by the time the game was over.
Setting down the shots, it was Lindsey's turn.
"Okay, Fact or Crap." The younger man chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think of something good. "Sam once jumped a blood-crazy Hunter turned vampire with his bare hands."
The whole table groaned and everyone cried "fact" almost in unison. Turning red, Lindsey threw more money on the table.
"Please, dude, that was weak," Beard Braid mocked good-naturedly. "Everyone and their mother knew Gorden Walker bit off more than he could chew."
The whole table groaned again at the bad pun.
"Just for that, you're up next, Bo."
Beard Braid Bo chuckled. "Fact or Crap. Sam Winchester slept with five women in one night."
The table took a moment to consider that one.
"Huh. If you said Dean, that'd be a no-brainer," the black man snorted, "I've seen him work. But Sam...? I mean, he probably could if he wanted to..."
"...but Mr. Tall Dark and Puppy-Eyed doesn't do that." Delia finished. "I call Crap."
In the end the Craps won.
"Fact," Beard Braid declared smugly. "It was that year the boy was wandering around without his soul and didn't sleep. He got bored and really got around. He said five was a personal record." Bo threw back his shot and motioned for the table to pay up.
Delmonico scribbled furiously. 'Wandering around without his soul?' That was a new one for her; how does one loose his soul? There was a chapter section in there somewhere, she just knew it. But if there was, she'd have to collaborate with the philosophy department. She knew Professor Shapiro would go on for hours about whether we have a soul or whether we are a soul, but he always gave the most publishable quotes so the afternoon discussion wouldn't be completely wasted.
And Sam Winchester doesn't need to sleep? Since when? Why?
Then the professor harrumphed to herself. Five women in one night, as though that was a feat worth bragging about. You'd think after spending years pretending to be a bar-fly she'd be accustomed to this kind of debauchery. Men. Thankfully, it didn't devolve into each man's personal record. Maybe that was because Delia was present.
"You're up, T.J."
The black man nodded. "Fact or Crap. Sam and Dean walked right down into hell, picked another fight with Lucifer, and then walked out again."
The table fell silent again, but this silence seemed different to Delmonico somehow. Less considering and more...processing. To be honest, the professor froze a little bit at the challenge in T.J.'s voice. That was one hell of a claim to make (no pun intended this time).
"Seriously?" Delia breathed, a little bit of awe in her voice.
"Vote first, proof or truth after," T.J. reminded.
This time the table split about half and half, two Facts and two Craps.
"Fact," he announced. "Heard it from a demon, all pissed off that the King of Hell was just letting Winchesters waltz in and out of anywhere they wanted; that the Freakin' Winchesters had the old leprechaun whipped."
"Well, yeah, we knew that," Bo snorted. "I mean, demons still give me the cold willies, but they're easy picking for John's boys. How do you know they threw down with the Devil again? And why would they do that? Didn't work out great for them last time. The world, yeah. Them? Not so much."
Delmonico had heard the Apocalypse and the Winchesters tale before; it was in the Edlund books. What surprised her was that these bar-flies had heard the same thing. Did the author get it from listening to the bar-flies or did the bar-flies hear it from someone who read the author? Oh, she could spend the rest of her career chasing that chicken-and-egg question. But the important bit was the spread of the story. However the story got started, everyone here acted as though it were complete truth.
Meanwhile, the conversation didn't pause for her thoughts.
T.J. sipped at a beer. "Way I heard it, there was a new Big Bad, worse than anything before. That black smoke that started wiping out towns?" He paused and the table nodded their recognition. "They heard Lucifer was the only thing old enough left standing that knew how to gank it. So they took a trip and asked."
"Damn, the balls in those two!" Eye Patch guffawed.
"Big and hairy," Bo agreed.
"Wait, was that the Big Bad that broke the sun, do y'think?" Lindsey asked. "Y'think the Winchesters fixed it?"
"Wouldn't surprise," T.J. shrugged. "I mean, they did something to make that extra solar eclipse a few years back."
"Yeah, what was with that?" Delia asked. "I asked once, right after. Dean gave me that 'one more word and I deck you' glare and Sam acted like I'd jut kicked Dean's puppy."
This was good, Delmonico thought. Now they were attributing astrological occurrences to the Winchesters. Most cultures reserved those kind of acts to gods. She remembered hearing on the news about how something eclipsed the sun days after the regularly expected solar eclipse. It was weird, but she always assumed there was some scientific reason. The science department had gone into a tizzy, but she couldn't understand half the technical jargon they were throwing around for an explanation.
Apparently, monsters were also powerful enough to break the sun now. That was new. Of course she remembered the sun dimming and the science department going into another tizzy. But really. The scientists went into a tizzy for that big meteor shower a little over a year ago, too. Idly, Delmonico wondered how her bar-flies would explain the world-wide meteor shower. That was probably the Winchesters shooting down aliens or something.
Huh, aliens. Delmonico made a note to explore aliens as a continuation of folklore. But later; this was getting good.
"Someone probably died on 'em," Bo offered. "Doesn't pay to stand too close to those boys for too long, y'know?"
"On that happy note, its my turn!" Eye Patch declared, dispelling the gloom from the table. "Fact or Crap. Dean Winchester got his ass kicked by Tinker Bell's little sister."
The table broke into much needed laughter and chorused, "Crap!"
Eye Patch smirked. "Fact."
"Bull!" Lindsey laughed. "A Winchester getting beat by a fairy? Are fairy's even a thing?"
Ghosts, vampires, demons and the Devil and nobody blinks; but they draw the line at fairies? Delmonico wanted to laugh. What? Where fairies not scary enough to be real?
"Sam says they are. Said one handed his brother his ass." Eye Patch defended himself.
"I'm with Lindsey, I call Bull." T.J. countered.
"Fine, but you all have to pay up double when I prove it." Eye Patch pulled out his phone.
"Yeah, whatever. You're buying the whole bottle if you can't!" Delia reminded.
Delmonico turned a little more to get a better view. She wanted to see how they thought they could prove such a claim. Her eyes widened when she realized they were all gathered closer to a cellphone on speaker.
"Danny? How's it going man? Haven't heard from you in a while." The voice coming from the phone sounded tinny but it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Dean," Eye Patch Danny greeted. "Gotcha on speaker. We're playing Fact or Crap and these knuckleheads won't believe me."
Delmonico froze. Dean Winchester was on the phone not five feet away. No way! He wasn't supposed to be real...just folklore. Or if he was based on a real person, that person should have died a few years ago. Besides, monsters weren't real! Even if there was a guy going by the name Dean Winchester, there is nothing for him to be doing. You can't kill monsters if they don't exist.
"Okay, shoot."
"Did you or did you not get your ass kicked by Tinker Bell?" Danny demanded.
There was a beat, then Dean's voice bellowed, "SAM! What the hell man! Why would you tell Danny Tallon about Tinker Bell! You know he'd tell every Hunter in the States!"
"So its true?" Lindsey gaped.
Dean growled and everyone could hear another voice in the background laughing. "Laugh it up, Sammy. I will get you for this! Danny, for the record, Tinker Bell died a horrible microwaved death. And while she got a few good punches in, at no point did she come close to kicking my ass! Are we clear?"
Delia let loose a whoop of mirth. "Dean Winchester got his ass handed to him by Tinker Bell!"
"I hate you people," Dean growled and hung up.
Delia poured shots all around and held up her glass in toast. "To Tinker Bell!"
The table chorused the toast and everyone threw back their shots.
Realizing she might never get another opportunity like this, Delmonico gathered up her courage and addressed the table she had been shamelessly eavesdropping on all night. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear, and this might sound strange, but could I get Dean Winchester's phone number? I've been trying to catch up with him and Sam for a long time."
TBC?