A/N: My rambling is usually saved for ze second A/N, but 'tis Dean and his slinky! Just a not-so-brief aftermath of the bros in the space between eps 14 and 15 ^_^ It ended up being way more Dean and Sam bantering their hearts out, but there's a plot in there, I promise.

...Btw, all the "Tears For Fears" references are cuz I watching a Psych marathon while working on this (no better way to get the funnies running) and they met the lead singer (ahh, Shawnie, you child) and played songs by 'em lots so *shrug*, it fit :) *hums absently*

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, though c'mon writers, you don't just abandon the significance that is Deano's slinky! *huff* I don't own anything Tears For Fears-related either. Just in case you weren't sure.

Slinky Semaphore

Sam was pretty sure that having his brother tear carnivorously into the bacon burger on the table would have been more appealing than having to watch Dean's current embarrassing actions.

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him... Repeating the mantra was barely restraining the man from smacking the other across the face.

"They're dropping fast, and we shouldn't just ignore it. Most likely a simple salt and burn, angry spirit, normal stuff for once."

"Mhm." A soft laugh followed as the toy in Dean's hands rebounded back to its cylindrical shape.

Sam was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He gritted and teeth and plowed on (because God knew it was all his fault in the first place for giving Dean the thing), "So, I think it wouldn't be a bad idea if we stopped by. Wouldn't take that long."

Finally, Dean looked up and showed a slight interest. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"We're not the only hunters in the country, Sam. Don't you think we have more...pressing issues to deal with?"

Sam snorted. "What, like taking down Dick Roman with a giant slinky?"

Dean pointed a finger a Sam. "Hey. This thing could freakin' eat him, man!"

"He's the Leviathan, Dean. And will you put that thing down already?"

Dean crossed his arms. "Y'know, I'm a little hurt, Sammy. I don't see you being so appreciative with my gift."

"Go to hell, Dean."

Obviously, he was still a little sore about the whole clown thing.

"Been there," Dean countered easily, then continued, "Seriously, dude. What gives?"

Sam sighed, dropping the folded newspaper to the side of the table in their little diner booth, article side down. The face of the recent victim stared up at the two of them, the words suggesting a tantalizingly normal case for once. Just a small break from their load of crap.

It was clean cut, all the evidence of a spirit in the article, easy to spot if you were even a novice hunter but invisible to regular people. The man'd had a family – wife and kid. He'd been related to the other two victims as well, so it wasn't difficult to perceive the spirit's next move. If for once they could save someone during their job, offer protection for just a day or two, Sam saw no reason not to take the bit of therapy.

"Just...let's check it out, alright?" It had been awhile, but he definitely wasn't a stranger to using his highly effective puppy-dog eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes at him, but thought about it for only for a moment before returning to bouncing his slinky from hand to hand. He shrugged, not really wanting to get that pout on Sammy's face. Kid was way too old for that. "Fine, where to, then?"

Sam grinned. "Not far, let's go." He snagged the keys from the pocket of Dean's jacket, which was laying on the seat beside said brother. "I'll drive."

"Woah!" Dean protested, gesturing with one hand to his half-eaten burger, the other one supporting his somewhat wildly bouncing rainbow slinky. "Lemme finish, dude."

Sam barely stopped, only shooting a smug glance over his shoulder. "Shouldn't have played with your food, Dean."

The other man huffed and quickly slid out to follow, jacket in one hand and slinky in the other, looking like if he'd had a free hand he would've grabbed the burger too – plate and all. "Not cool," Dean grumbled.

The current used, dull orange car of the Winchesters pulled to an extremely halting stop, pitching the two occupants forward as Sam finally got it to settle.

"I hate this car," Dean growled, pulling his hands back from where he'd thrown them onto the dashboard at the jerky parking. "Or maybe just your driving."

Sam rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with my driving, Dean. And you know we don't have a choice."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said moodily, getting out. There was no use thinking about his baby at the moment. Unless every law enforcement member of the country either dropped dead or cleared the car out of their system, there wasn't much chance of him getting her back. Still, Dean figured with a slight grin, at least he still had his slinky. Which also drove Sam crazy. Bonus.

Sam watched with disbelief as Dean tucked the thing into the inside of his suit. "You're kidding."

Dean looked up. "What?" He feigned incomprehension.

"We're FBI, Dean! The hell are you gonna do with a giant slinky while we're asking questions?"

"I was thinking it would have some sort of therapeutic effect," Dean answered, in all seriousness. "It brings happiness to the young at heart."

Sam shook his head in disgust. "Shut up, man."

"Is that any way to speak to your superior?" Dean asked, morphing into character as they made their way to the front door of the victim's house to speak to his wife and child – the Miller family.

"You are not my superior."

"'course I am," Dean corrected cheerily. "You are simply a trainee who is shadowing on his first case, and idolizes me as an expert in the field and aspires to become just like his hero." Dean glanced at his brother in mock-sympathy as he pressed the button to ring the doorbell. "It's a bit endearing, actually."

Before Sam could retort bitchily, the door opened slightly, just enough for a frazzled-looking woman to stick her brown-haired head out.

"Who are you?" she asked shakily but bluntly. Obviously not really looking forward to any visitors.

"Agent Curt Smith," Dean said, flashing his badge too-briefly. "And my partner Roland Orzabal."

Sam mimicked Dean and then nodded at the woman. "We just want to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Miller."

The lady pressed a hand to her mouth, glancing to somewhere inside the house. She blew out a breath, then pulled the door open all the way and gestured unhappily for them to come in. "Call me Judith."

"What do you want to know?" she then asked tiredly, leading them to a living room with a staircase continuing upstairs. There was fireplace with pictures on the mantle, couch, TV – regular stuff. No reason for this family to be attacked by an angry spirit, but it really was just the outer layer.

"We were just wondering if there was any reason someone might have wanted to harm your husband?" Sam said, using that voice that projected sympathy and understanding. One Dean hadn't ever really mastered. He couldn't help but sound a little fake at times, but in his defense, that was the reason he had his pansy-assed little brother by his side.

"Why...why would you need to know that?" she asked in concern, voice rising. "It was an accident – he just fell." She wrapped her arms around herself, brown eyes darting between the two of them, dark circles of exhaustion making them seem larger.

Yeah, fell on a knife, Dean thought with scoff. 'course, he couldn't say that out loud, he wasn't that cold-hearted. Wasn't her fault she'd had the luck never to know that the monster under her bed really did exist.

"Calm down, please, Mrs. Miller," Dean intervened, trying to make his voice sound understanding. "We just need to check all possibilities."

Judith shook her head a little, then again with more certainty. "No," she said. "Not that I know of. Bill was great. When Mark and Linda -" she choked a little. "He was so broken up."

Right, Sam recalled from the article. The other two victims had been Bill Miller's uncle and cousin. They'd owned the factory business together.

Meanwhile, Dean heard a slight scuffle and his gaze flicked to the staircase just in time to catch a small figure fleeing up the steps from his spying spot.

Sam had been about to ask whether she was sure, but Dean beat him to it with something else.

"Ma'am, may we speak with your son?" Dean suddenly asked.

The woman hesitated for a moment, so Sam backed Dean up, "It's important that we get all accounts, Judith, and your son may have heard something as well."

Judith nodded, sinking into a chair and picking up a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table. "He's upstairs."

Sam murmured his thanks while Dean immediately started up the staircase.

It wasn't hard to find the kid's room – there were only three rooms on the second level. The door was slightly ajar and movement could be heard from inside.

Dean knocked then headed in anyway, finding a small boy of about nine inside. Blue eyes stared at the two brothers as they stepped inside, shadowed by a ruffled tuft of blonde hair. Probably got his looks from his dad, Sam reflected absently. The kid had nothing of his mother.

"Agents Smith and Orzabal," Dean said briefly, gesturing to him and Sam respectively. Then, in a less professional tone, "We just wanna talk."

The boy had looked at them strangely when Dean finished with their names. "What, your parents want you to start a rock band or something?"

Dean laughed a little, surprised. No way this kid knew anything about good music. "What's your name, kid?" he asked instead.

"Pete," the boy answered, still glancing uncertainly and little suspiciously between the two bogus agents.

"Well, Pete," Dean said, actually sounding cheery. Not for the first time, it showed how much better the man could be with kids than one would think. He did practically raise his little brother. "How've you been?"

The kid scowled at him. "How do ya think?" he retorted.

Dean was unfazed. "Big boy like you? I'd hope you were helping out your mom through this."

The slightly guilty look in the child's eyes said otherwise. That might explain how flustered Judith had been when she answered the door.

"You can still help us out," Dean continued, stepping closer. "Anything you know could be important."

"I don't know anything," Pete answered, voice curt but high-pitched. A little nervous.

Dean raised his eyebrows, not buying it. "Ya sure? 'cause I know sometimes kids hear things that they don't want their parents to know about."

Pete sat on his bed, twisting his hands together and staring at the ground, looking desperately like he wanted to say something.

"Speak now or never, kid," Sam said quietly. Dean shot him a look.

"Rugger," Pete whispered.

Dean and Sam paused, glancing at each other. Neither knew quite what to make of that.

"Uh," Dean said, smiling casually but his eyes intent. "Is that a name, son?"

"He killed my dad."

The two brothers looked at each other again, this time with more depth in the glance. This was definitely getting somewhere.

Dean moved forward and leaned down a bit so he could see eye-to-eye with the boy sitting on the bed. "What makes you say that, Pete?"

The kid swallowed, staring with wide, earnest eyes. "I saw his ghost," he said, voice still low. Dean raised his eyebrows in interest. "I told Dad not to go to work that day. He...he didn't listen." Tears welled up in Pete's eyes.

"Hey," Dean said softly. "It's okay, we'll find this Rugger guy."

The kid nodded, but still sniffled. Dean eyed him for a moment, then looked back at Sam with a sudden idea.

Sam realized what Dean was about to do a second before it happened. "Dean," he hissed, moving forward. But his brother was already reaching inside his suit pocket.

"Look, Pete," Dean said, holding out a small cylinder of color. "Wanna see what happens when this thing goes down the stairs?"

Pete looked at Dean strangely, but took the slinky. He tossed from hand to hand a little, an action that always had a delighted grin lighting up Dean's face, but shook his head and handed it back.

Dean deflated a little. All the same, he shot the kid a lopsided grin, then followed his fuming brother out the door, pausing to say farewell to Judith Miller. Sam proceeded to all but man-handle him to the car.

"Watch the suit, dude!" Dean protested, jerking his arm out of Sam's grip. "It takes forever to iron these things!"

"What is wrong with you?" Sam demanded as they both sat in the car.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Are you naturally insensitive, or do you have to try?"

"I was not insensitive!"

Sam scoffed, struggling to get the freakin' car to reverse properly. "You asked a kid who's father just got murdered if he wanted to play with your slinky!"

Dean paused, pressing his lips together. But he still couldn't refrain from saying, "Now, Sammy, if I were you, I would reword that."

"You're disgusting." Sam shook his head, but decided to change the subject with a sigh. "I'll go back to the motel and find what I can on Rugger, you go grab some dinner, alright?"

"Sure," Dean offered his assent, then leaned back and pulled out the giant slinky again. Sam groaned, but his brother ignored him and smirked as he juggled the two ends on either hand.

Best gift ever.

"Dude, where's my barbecue sauce?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Dean, you got the food, remember?"

It was about an hour later, and the two were sitting in the motel room – suits off and hunting boots with regular flannel shirts on – trying to make headway on their case. Well, Sam was. Dean was currently investigating the case of the missing barbecue sauce.

He now protested, "Yeah, and I got barbecue sauce! Where is it?" He rifled through the paper bag again. "Who messes with a guy's condiments?"

Sam looked like he wanted to thump Dean on the head and tell him that he had no friggin' idea where the man's barbecue sauce was, when he caught sight of an innocent-looking slinky sitting on the table. Covered in the said condiment.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam called, pointing to the toy when his brother looked his way.

Dean followed his finger. He crossed his arms in disbelief as he stared down the colorful cylinder. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly.

Sam glanced at him. "Wait...dude, what are you thinking?" he asked in slight alarm.

"The slinky ate my BBQ!"

"No, it didn't, Dean."

"Yeah, it definitely snagged and chugged the thing."

"That's almost as ridiculous as "Dingo ate my baby.""

"No way, this is more likely."

Sam stabbed his salad, maybe pretending that it was Dean's head that his fork was making contact with. Slightly less stressed by the action, he again tried to take the conversation away from the slinky. "Man, do you wanna hear what I got or not?"

Dean blew out a breath. "Okay, okay." He settled into a chair and stuffed some fries into his mouth, only occasionally glancing at the slinky. "Hit me," he ordered, mouth full.

"Alright, so like I told you," Sam started, already all prepared to divulge the information he had gained from his proudly impeccable research skills. Yeah, high school research papers did help with hunting. "Bill Miller was the third death that took place at that factory – called the Happy House – and -"

"Woah, woah," Dean cut him off, laughing. "The Happy House? The hell kinda name is that?"

Sam shot him what was supposed to be a withering glance. "They cut up animals and sell them to companies as meat products, Dean, they can't really call it the Chop Shop."

Dean looked at him serious. "That is true; people might confuse it with a place to buy car parts."

"Anyway," Sam continued exasperatedly. "The other two victims were a Mark and Linda Miller, related as his uncle and cousin. But get this -" Sam turned the laptop in Dean's direction, pointing to the face of another man - "they weren't the only deaths at that factory. Almost ten years ago, this guy, Slim, died in a factory accident too." Sam grinned. "Guess what his last name was."

"I'm guessing you're gonna tell me anyway," Dean said drily.

Sam ignored him. "Rugger."

Dean whistled. "Same guy that kid mentioned..." he mused. "So, his death really an accident?"

Sam snorted. "Is it ever?" Then he went on, "Police said it was, obviously, but there were two other people there that night – Mark and Bill. Suspicious, much?"

"So, what, you think they killed him?"

Sam nodded slowly. "See, Linda had been in pretty deep with Slim. After he died, she and her father Mark had a sort of falling out but...she and Bill stayed pretty close."

Dean's eyebrows shot up when he caught on to what Sam was insinuating. "Dude, she's his cousin!"

Sam shook his head. "Not by blood. She was adopted by his uncle, Mark."

Dean still looked disgusted. "Inbreeding at work," he muttered. "Any proof?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Not really. But it would make sense that his spirit be going after everybody who was involved when Linda was cheating on him." Sam hesitated. "And I'm not sure if it's just me, but take a look at this picture."

He turned the laptop back to Dean again, and now the screen showed a picture with the caption "Linda Miller – Deceased."

Dean stared at the picture for a moment. Then he blinked and leaned closer. "Dude, wait a minute..."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Looks just a little like that kid Pete, doesn't it?"

Dean sat back and whistled low. "It's like a friggin' soap opera." He shook his head. "So, Slim finds out, gets mad, Mark and Bill handle it. Now his spirit's trapped and going head over heels berserk trying to avenge himself. That's three of 'em down..."

"One more to go," Sam finished seriously.

"The question is," Sam said after a pause. "When did Pete see him?"

Dean took a large bite out of his burger, and Sam immediately pulled the laptop away from his brother in disgust. "P'ly," Dean tried, talking once again with his mouth full as Sam gave him a level two bitch-face. "'c's Sl'm w'n'ed ta see 'is g'rlfr'nd's 'id."

"English, you freak, speak it?"

Dean swallowed and tried again. "I said probably 'cause Slim wanted to see his girlfriend's kid. Y'know, before he killed him." Dean shrugged. "It was bring your kid to work day or something, I dunno, and Pete got an eyeful of ghost."

Sam nodded slowly, thinking the idea sounded pretty legit.

Dean ran his sleeve over his mouth, finished with the sandwich. "You find out where he's buried?"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Get this – he was buried right behind the factory building."

"Why?"

Sam shrugged. "He had no family, and apparently he and Linda'd had a falling out or something, 'cause she didn't want the body. So the factory decided that since it'd been on their property, they'd lay him to rest on their land."

Dean nodded. "And now his ass is haunting the place." He dropped his fist on the table, and started packing. "Right, grab the salt, Sammy. We got a spirit to gank."

Sam refused to back down on his demand. His brother was probably the most immature, unreasonable being on the planet at the moment.

"You're a friggin' child, Dean."

"Am not! This is perfectly acceptable behavior." Dean tucked the slinky into their duffle bag. Which was supposed to be filled with weapons. Still, the toy was now barbecue-sauce free and apparently forgiven enough to be allowed to ride on the hunt with them into the Happy House factory.

"It's like that time I was five and you made me put on a worm-stache, Dean," Sam continued to complain. This was definitely the last straw. They were not bringing this toy on a hunt with them. No.

The blonde grinned. "Now, that was hilarious, Sammy. Don't deny it."

"Dude, it's not coming."

"Give me a reason."

"I shouldn't have to have one, Dean! Why the hell do you need a slinky?"

Dean shot him a glare. "This thing" - he pointed to the slinky before zipping up the bag - "could be useful."

"Yeah right," Sam ground out in frustration.

Dean understood his brother's point, he did, but he was still bringing the toy. It was good luck.

So maybe having the slinky that Sam had bought for him was a little like remembering the amulet he'd stupidly thrown away. Or the Impala, because no matter how much of a dead-beat he decided to label his dad, Dean treasured that car as he had his father's pride. And it was gone too. Bobby's flask – hell, some nights Dean thought the thing really was haunted. But he kept it, 'cause no amount of persuading would get him to participate in a chick-flick moment with his family when he could have these sentimental mementos.

It was a slinky. It was cool. Sammy'd given it to him? Major bonus. The kid was his little brother; even the stupidest birthday presents given over the years were still touching – especially since they didn't happen much any more. So yeah, it was nice to know that through their freaky-ass Leviathan problem and Sam's pee-the-pants clown fear, his brother'd gotten him a present. And that was as deep as Dean would go.

Now he was going to bring it on this hunt, and definitely 'cause it pissed off Sammy. And that was what made Dean's life enjoyable.

"You wanna argue about this, or you wanna finish the job?" Dean just said, pushing ahead to the factory door without waiting for a response.

"Alright, where's he buried?" Dean asked once Sam caught up.

Sam hesitated. "Dunno the exactly place," he admitted. "Let's just find the back door to the place."

"Couldn't we have just parked out back?"

Sam scowled at him. "No, Dean, the yard is fenced off."

Dean muttered, "It my Impala'd been here, we coulda gotten through some crappy metal fence..."

Sam highly doubted that, but made no comment.

They were almost to the other side of the building soon. It had been dark the whole way, and quiet. Nothing seeming like it would give the two brothers trouble during their salt and burn. But the dead meat smell and sharp looking machinery was more than a little foreboding in the dark.

As though there was no way this hunt would pull of without a hitch, suddenly loud and pounding footsteps sounded from behind the door down the hallway in front of them.

Sam immediately shoved his brother out of the line of sight, causing Dean to fall and hit his leg hard on a metal piece sticking out from a machine and infringing on their little hiding spot behind some cardboard boxes.

"Ah!" He muffled his curses, but Sam still shot him a glare.

"Dean! Quiet!"

Dean glared at him. "I'm sorry if my pain is causing you problems!" he whispered furiously.

Sam just whacked him on the arm and ordered, "Shh!"

Dean looked like he wanted to offer something rude in response, but the sudden banging of the door flying open quickly caught his interest. And even moreso, the short-statured figure that flew out and down the hall looked shockingly familiar.

"Pete," Sam said, jumping out and reaching to grab the kid.

But the boy just dodged Sam's gigantic hand and continued to speed down the corridor, looking for all the world like he'd just seen a ghost. And, if the Winchesters' theory was correct, then he most likely had.

"Think he'll make it out okay?" Sam asked Dean worriedly, hovering between charging after the kid and going through the doors to see what had spooked him.

Dean straightened from his bent position, successfully shaking out his leg. "He'll be fine," Dean said after a moment. "Here." He tossed Sam the salt container from their duffel, and both of them were already carrying their shotguns loaded with rocksalt. Then, Dean reached in again and pulled out his trusty slinky, much to Sam's exasperation, and hoisted the bag with their shovels over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Sam said nothing about the slinky. So not worth it at the moment.

Stepping through the double doors that Pete had just flown through, the brothers were hit by the cold night air. The land in front of them was rocky and uneven, mounds of dirt scattered throughout the fenced off back area. It wasn't hard to see why the factory owners had agreed to bury Slim's body here, amongst the other piles of dirt that no one cared or bothered with. If the man hadn't been hunting down humans from his place in the afterlife, Sam might've felt a little bit sorry for the man. But in any case, there really wasn't much time in his busy schedule for things like that any more, not with more pressing issues on their plate.

Still, this hunt was almost over. It had been pretty relieving, though, knowing exactly what they were up against and how to stop it. The only thing that set Sam's teeth slightly on edge was Dean's obsession over his freakin' slinky, but his brother's occasional immaturity couldn't really be helped. 's long as it didn't apprehend them on this hunt...

It would've been hard to find the grave they were looking for, had it not already been dug up. The brothers looked at each other in surprise, wondering if this was Pete's doing. A strange thought, but at least they wouldn't need to waste time digging, Dean figured, tossing the duffel to the side as he made his way to the hole beside Sam.

The younger Winchester calmly salted the bones, while Dean shook out some kerosene. They hadn't been attacked by the godawful spirit with the temper of hell yet, but they figured it wouldn't be long -

"Holy-!" Dean's shout was abruptly cut off as he was flung away, landing face-first onto the hard, unforgiving ground with this slinky a few feet away. Dazed, he lay there, Sam quickly whirling his shotgun around in preparation.

Ghosts were hardly ever quiet in their murder sprees against hunters, being all pissed off and everything.

Sam barely had a chance to fire a round of rocksalt into a burly, wild-eyed man with blood dripping off from where his arm should have been, before the said spirit grabbed the gun with his remaining arm and chucked it at a small tree. The rocksalt had all but gone through him.

The next second, Sam was off his feet and struggling to breathe as a beefy hand wrapped around his throat.

This was not supposed to happen. Since when did they get one-upped by some random spirit anyway?

A little ways away, Dean half turned his clearing head in worry but he made no effort to intervene in Sam's plight, instead staring in curiosity at the quivering slinky in the ground. If it had been a cartoon, a metaphorical lightbulb would have gone off over his head.

Sam wasn't quite sure what happened next. A flash of numerous colors sped through his vision, right in the place where his attacker's head should have been had it been solid. He wasn't the only surprised by the sneak attack – Slim jerked his head around in surprise, loosening his grip and turning his head to come face to face with the barrel of Dean's shotgun.

The shot Dean fired into him wouldn't last for long, but Sam had regained his senses and scrambled to his feet.

"Get the bones, Dean," Sam said, breathing hard to get the air his lungs had recently been deprived of and searching quickly for a sign of Slim.

"Heads up!" Dean called, tossing his own gun to his brother as the spirit reappeared. Sam, ready this time, took aim.

Dean dove to the edge of the whole while Sam fired around round of rocksalt into the spirit. The older hunter pulled out his lighter and lit it quickly, dropping it amongst the remains of their ghost. The bones went up in flames, and the ghost of Slim Rugger dissipated along with it, looking none too happy.

Dean blew out a breath to mingle with the smoke in the sudden silence that always followed their hunts coming to a close. He walked over to where the slinky lay, now sadly tangled and still bouncing slightly. It had saved their lives in its catapulting into the spirit of Slim Rugger, showing itself to be a more than capable weapon. Too bad it seemed like its hunting days were over, Dean thought sadly.

"Sammy," he said seriously after a moment, staring at his slightly stunned-looking brother, "I so told you this thing ate my barbecue sauce."

The hunt was over: Slim Rugger had been put to rest, Pete was hopefully not too traumatized, and his mother none the wiser. Dean's slinky was broke, tangled in that way that no one can ever undo when it comes to those arcade toys, but Sam had seen his brother tuck it into the duffel when they were packing anyway. They hadn't really mentioned its vital role in saving Sam from being choked to death, but judging from slight smirk and satisfied look on Dean's face, it was clear he was thinking about it as much as Sam was.

"What?" Sam finally snapped.

Dean looks at the road ahead, keeping his face straight. "Nothin'."

"Bullcrap, Dean. What's so funny?"

He couldn't help it – he smirked wider. It was that indignant voice teenaged Sammy used whenever Dean decided to use his Big Brother Rights and tease the kid a bit. And because no matter how old they got, those rules still applied, so Dean let Sam stew for a bit.

"Spit it out, Dean!"

Dean's smirk turned into full-fledged grin now. "Dude, you totally got shown up by my slinky."

Annoyance showed on Sam's face. He scowled at Dean's recount of the action, "Did you see it attack that son of a bitch? Went right through him, sure, but helped you out." Dean shifted smugly, shooting Sam a questioning glance. "And you said something about...useless? Childish?"

Sam shook his head, refusing to be baited. "Whatever."

"Then you gave no warning," Dean continued, on a roll now. "Just BOOM! Went on all ninja on his ass!" Dean paused. "Were the rainbow colors stimulating? I think so."

"Shut up, Dean. The toy did nothing."

"C'mon, college boy, didn't you take a course at that prep school of yours?"

"It was law school, Dean. They didn't teach us how to deal with people with emotional attachment issues."

"Now, Sammy, that's just hurtful."

"You're such a jerk."

"Don't be a bitch about it, Samantha."

Sam turned his head to look out the window to hide his small smile. Yeah, taking this hunt was a good idea.

They stayed in silence for only a few minutes more, before Dean decided to get his nodding off brother to wake up a bit. He hit the play button and the familiar sound of cassettes loading preempted an old Tears For Fears track filling the space.

It wasn't the Impala, but Dean was gonna get as damn close to as classy a car as he could. And that included singing along to all his tapes on the journey to wherever the hell they were gonna go next. Some things had to stay the same.

Dean raised his voice with the music as Sam groaned. "Shout! Shout! Let it all out!"

"Deaaan..."

"These are the things I can dooo without!" Dean whacked his brother on the shoulder, continuing to sing with mirth. "C'mon! I'm talking to youuu..."

He turned the volume higher, past ear-splitting level. Sam figured at least the better voice of Curt Smith could drown out Dean's...well, shouting.

The not-Impala cruised down the road, engine rumbling, hearing the crush and run of the miles the brothers traveled together. All the while leaving the loud echo of good music in their wake, filling the previous quiet of a late evening.

In violent times, you shouldn't have to sell your soul
In black and white, they really really ought to know
Those one track minds that took you for a working boy
Kiss them goodbye, you shouldn't have to jump for joy
You shouldn't have to

Shout!

...*fade to black*

A/N:

Well, that was tiring. I'm tired. And satisfied. Yay! I finished! ^_^ 14 pages and scattered hours of productivity later, along with pretty much re-watching all of the Psych episodes on my DVR O.o What. A. Night. *collapses* Think that was my longest, and only actually planned, oneshot ever. Holy crap.

Anyhow, 'tis the Ninja Slinky of Doom! (Thank you for that, agent iz hyper) She's also mah beta (cuz my spellcheck Juliet does not catch all my grammar issues -.-) and the one who mentioned that there weren't many Dean-and-his-slinky fics, and allowed me to set my bunnies on the idea and see what they came back. Which, unsurprisingly, given their reputation, was a ninja slinky. Of doom. *nods*

I highly disagree with Sam's thought about Deano being a bad singer by the way. On the record.

Reviews are stroking Dean's ego of believing to have a wonderful voice! xD *cough*andmine*cough*

*slinkies away*

-Dodo