Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

E/O Challenge: Prepare. 200 & 2 x 100-word drabbles. #1: The Winchesters do lunch. #2: Dean would make a cool Sixer. #3: John on the cusp of a happy event. No spoilers.

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Hope for the Best and Prepare for the Worst

"In this world you've just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends." - 'Anne of Avonlea', Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)

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A/N: The Winchesters do lunch. 100 words. Set now-ish. No spoilers

It Must Be Wednesday

Sam had somehow persuaded Dean to try somewhere nice for lunch. Now seated outside a restaurant, they were enjoying the warm sunshine and watching the world go by while waiting for their salad.

Who are you and what have you done with my brother? Sam mused.

"Prepare for the end is nigh!" proclaimed a bedraggled, clapboard-wearing passerby.

"Hey buddy, relax. We took care of that for ya," Dean chuckled.

The ground trembled, disgorging a swarm of misshapen demons that attacked the angels now swooping down from the heavens.

Sam sighed. "You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you?"

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A/N: Dean would make a cool Sixer. 100 words.

Baden-Powell Would be Proud

Sam grumbled as the Impala door opened, letting in the freezing night air, as Dean took his seat behind the wheel.

"Hey, Sammy. Stakeout sucks, so I bought provisions," Dean said with a wide grin, holding up a convenience store bag. "All three food groups: chips, dips and M&Ms."

Sam's hopes for a chicken wrap lay dashed.

"Oh, and some reading material," Dean smirked, pulling out that month's issue of 'Busty Asian Babes'.

"Really?" Sam asked, tossing the magazine into the backseat with disgust. "What were you thinking, dude?"

"You know the motto: 'Be Prepared'"

"Dean, you're no boy scout."

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A/N: John on the cusp of a happy event. 200 words. Set now-ish/pre-series. Time travel makes my head hurt.

Pregnant Pause

"It is a wise father that knows his own child." - Launcelot, 'The Merchant of Venice', William Shakespeare

John was left shaking from a combination of nerves and excitement after receiving the call from the hospital.

He turned to the man waiting for him at a discrete distance in the doorway. He considered how puzzling it was that Mary's cousins, never mentioned before even once in passing, had an odd habit of turning up at pivotal moments in their lives together.

"She's started," John said, pleased that his voice didn't betray his anxiety. For reasons he couldn't quite place, he felt the need to make a good impression with this virtual stranger.

"I'll drive," said the man. John nodded in agreement, the way he was feeling right now he'd probably run the car off the road.

"Do you have kids?" asked John, once in the car and after a long, awkward silence.

There was a brief look of pain, soon quashed. "A daughter. I never really knew her... she's dead."

John was mortified. "I'm sorry... I guess nothing can really prepare you for what's gonna come. You just have to do the best you can at the time," he babbled.

Mary's cousin seemed amused by this. "Something tells me you'll do okay," he said with an odd smirk.

(;,;)