I forgot context. I guess people like that, huh. Well, for this story, the setting is as follows: Sam is at Stanford, been gone for long enough that Dean can function and still be able to give his real name to federal agents and not be arrested, and John is being his John-ish self and dicking around, doing shit, probably. NCIS has Ziva instead of Kate, but no specific time. Also, Ducky's story originally wasn't going to be written, but I've decided to post it separately as a one-shot, no guarantees on a date for the postage though. We never hear Ducky's stories, so hopefully it'll live up to the vague references I make. I'll be straight up; I'm not good at updating consistently. I'm also not to amazing at keeping such a light tone for the whole story. I'll do my damndest to keep it funny, but I'm going to have to incorporate serious shiz if you want me to keep going with this, because this chapter alone was hard enough to write. I wrote the first one at 2 AM in the midst of a Coca-Cola induced sugar rush and intended for it to be a one-shot. But I posted it and forgot to mark it as complete, and like 20 people followed it, and I feel it is now my duty to continue this accidentally multi-chapter story. I'm posting this mostly to satiate you guys until I figure out a plan for an actual plot. Expect another update in the near future (read: it might be a while). Thank you for the kind reviews.

I do not own Supernatural or NCIS, nor any characters affiliated with the show. Update on my snack situation, I have a ton of Cheez-Its. Addicting little buggers.

Dean had been having a Bad Day. He had come across a person he hadn't killed, in a town he wasn't actually been looking for anyone to kill in, and got taken in for questioning. The whole Latin thing had been fun for a while. And he figured that the story Ducky was telling him more than made up for the other stuff.

"... And it was rather good he was there, otherwise I'm fairly sure I would have been charged with treason," Ducky finished brightly. Dean whistled and leaned back in his chair, which he'd been on the edge on for the majority of time Ducky had been speaking.

"That," he chuckled, "was one doozy of a story. I can't believe you actually did all that. And the thing with the goat, simply genius. Although I bet that that wasn't great for your relationship with Germany, huh?"

Ducky shuffled and coughed demurely into his fist. "Ah, yes, well, indeed, I have not been back to that particular area since, and I do doubt that either me or my companion would be welcomed back with open arms," he said with a small amount of embarrassment and a rather lot of pride. "And you, my boy, had better tell Jethro what you know before he breaks something."

Just as Ducky said that, a faint shattering could be heard coming from the viewing room. "Oh dear," he sighed, "that'll be his coffee mug. Empty, presumably. So before he breaks something else, that is. I'll leave you to it." With that, Ducky took his leave, just in time to avoid the ire of Gibbs.

Gibbs practically materialized in front of Dean, arms crossed, nostrils flared. Dean slouched back, put his boots up, and smiled wide.

"Agent Gibbs, after that story, I'd tell you about my potty training days. There's no need to be growly. Makes you look like my dad. Although, that might just be a marine thing," Dean mused, leaning his chair back onto two legs.

"Winchester, we had an agreement. Now start talking, or be charged with everything I can make stick," Gibbs said shortly.

"Ok, ok, geez, you need to get laid. The chick with the accent, she was pretty hot," Dean started to leer, but Gibbs' expression convinced him that he should get on with it. "Anyways, I was on my way back into the bar from settling a, shall we say, misunderstanding between me and some sore losers from a game of pool, and I saw something reflective sticking out from under a dumpster. And as I consider it my duty to look at shiny things, I investigated. It was a watch, which happened to be attached to a dead guy. He hadn't been dead long, still looked like he might've been alive, so I checked for a pulse on his neck. One of the waitresses was throwin' some stuff in one of the other dumpsters, and she happened to see me leaning over some dude on the ground, so she freaked and called the cops. Cops found navy identification on him, so they called you, you took me in for questioning, and now here we are, me talkin' your ear off. Soon I might be booked, stripped, and searched," Dean grinned, "and you haven't even bought me dinner yet."

Gibbs stood stiffly, his mouth a hard line.

"What I got from that is that you were involved in a violent altercation over money at a scene where a man was found murdered." Gibbs' eyes glinted in what most people would not recognize as amusement. "And I won't be buying you cover food expenses for jails."

Dean leaned forward, his mouth open in an O of mock surprise.

"Agent, did you just confess to tax evasion? If I'm not mistaken, your taxes should cover a little bit of that. And mine. How rude, making me pay for it myself. I'm classy, I deserve more respect than this," Dean said, mock outrage seeping into his voice.

"I think, so far, we've given you more respect than you deserve, Mr. Winchester. And as for you paying for it yourself, we'll be checking if you actually pay taxes."

Gibbs hadn't gotten anything else other than a few more mouthy comebacks after that, so he left Dean to stew in the interrogation room. He stopped a janitor to let him know someone had broken a mug in the viewing room (*cough*), and the glass needed to be cleaned up, before going back to the break room to replace his drink.

Okay, so from the time I wrote that authors note to right now, I ate all of the Cheez-Its. Like, the entire box. It's been maybe an hour. That was all I wanted to say.