AN: Like many of my stories, this starts a little slowly, but you get some background and just ordinary brother moments. There will be more action and gore and probably h/c as we go.

Beta'd by the ever patient (and really funny and nice, too) JaniceC678. Errors are still my own because I don't stop messing with it after she's fixed it all up. The Winchesters are still depressingly not mine.

Just fyi, this was written primarily during commercials and between televised Olympic events.

* * *

Sam peered into the dark space and sighed. The bunker was a marvel of engineering, and it was clear that the designers had employed some arcane means of upkeep as well as technology that was unheard of for the general public at the time it was built. The Winchesters appreciated the efforts. Dust never accumulated and no creepy crawlies ever made it inside, not rodents, not so much as a housefly. And the utility systems were so over-built that they rarely caused a problem. For example, they had yet to run out of hot water. Heck, they still didn't even know how they had running water and electricity. Or why the rare people who came near didn't seem to even notice the place.

But it wasn't perfect. One example of that over-engineering had caused them a lot of trouble. There was a rubber-lined fitting between each and every pipe, even when it was simply two straight pipes meeting. This might sound like a great way to prevent leaks, except for the fact that rubber hardens and loses its elasticity over time. So as they used water, causing the pipes to flex from the changes in temperature, the Winchesters regularly found leaks. By now, they were good at finding the leak, locating the nearest water shut off, and replacing the faulty fitting with a more modern PVC version. They had a nice pipe wrench and a stockpile of replacement fittings.

But it seemed like every time Sam was the one who found a leak, it was in some tiny, cramped spot. Sam sighed again. Dean was out running errands – he'd probably told Sam where he was going, but Sam had been chronicling their defeat of Hitler(!) and fallen down a rabbit hole of artifacts that the Nazis had stolen. And yeah, he hadn't been listening. Then the lights in the storage room that he'd been in had flickered. They'd learned by now that inside the bunker, this probably meant a mundane issue, not a supernatural one. Most of the time, anyway.

So now Sam was staring at a leaking pipe fitting, dripping onto the wiring that led to the affected storage room. It had already formed a significant puddle. And it was under a low bulkhead that a Munchkin wouldn't have fit under, much less Sam. With no other choice, Sam stretched himself out on the floor on his right side, slid the pipe wrench into place and dialed it to the right size with his left hand. He had to angle his head under the bulkhead to reach. Sam rotated the wrench about 20 degrees, all he had space for. Laboriously, he adjusted the wrench bigger, took it off the pipe, and reattached it at the top possible position. This was going to take forever.

Sam had repeated his actions four times when the ringing of the phone in his back pocket startled him. It was loud, echoing in the small space, which was probably why Sam jumped so much. His hand slipped off the wrench to bump the exposed, wet wires hanging below the pipe. The shock made Sam jerk back and hit the side of his head on the cement above him.

"Ah, dammit, dammit!" Sam swore, backing out of the too-small space. But the time he was free, the phone had stop ringing. Cradling his sore right hand, Sam used his left to wake up his phone. His eyes widened as he saw the name of the most recent caller.

Barb Treece was a grandmotherly woman they'd run into twice before. The first time, she'd inadvertently caught them on a routine salt and burn and proved to be unusually accepting of the existence of ghosts, not to mention kind of badass for a woman in her sixties. She'd introduced them to her husband and sons, fed them a fantastic breakfast, and wished them well. The second time, they had called her by accident when they were trying to call Bobby, due to some blurry vision. Misdial or not, she and her family had really come through for the Winchesters as they battled a pernicious supernatural poison.

Long story short, they had a lot to reasons to take Barb's call – and though she had the green light to do so, she had never called before. Sam thumbed the button to call back. Barb answered on the first ring. "Hello?" She sounded a little off, unusually tremulous for the spunky lady.

"Barb? This is Sam Winchester. Are you okay?"

"Sam." He could hear Barb blow out a long breath. "Thank you for calling me back. I'm fine, and my family is fine. But I'm pretty sure there's your kind of problem here."

Sam propped his hip onto a nearby workbench. "Tell me about it. But first, are you sure you're okay?" He'd heard Barb surprised and worried, but she'd never sounded vulnerable until now.

"I really am," she answered, sounding stronger. "I've just been up all night, most of it talking to the police and trying to calm down my idiot sisters."

"Wait, what?"

Barb explained how she'd been one of two people to discover what turned out to be a body – apparently, the most recent of a number of bodies. "I'm on vacation in Arizona," she told him. "With my sisters. Well, the ones who are left."

Barb kept talking. Not long before, Barb's sister Louise – Lulu, as she was known – had unexpectedly passed away. All five of the sisters had been talking for years about taking a vacation together, and Lulu had been planning some specifics, unbeknownst to the rest. After she passed away, her husband George insisted that the rest should take the vacation Lulu been dreaming of.

Lulu had made more money from her art than any of the rest of her family had ever realized, since she and George lived modestly. George wanted nothing more than for the sisters to take some of the money and follow Lulu's vacation plans as a way to honor her. There was a high-end gated community being built in a remote area of Arizona, intended to became a practically self-contained community when all was said and done. The developers had a plan to start recouping their investment before the building was finished; they were building the compound in sections in order to rent out the finished condos even as they were still building the rest. Lulu had been delighted by the pictures of the surrounding area and had been collecting brochures for months. It reminded Sam briefly of the retirement home brochure he'd optimistically added to his own collection.

"How could we say no to that?" asked Barb rhetorically. "Myra's 82 – it's not like we have that many years left, you know. Which is why my sisters are refusing to leave, too."

"You're certain it's something...supernatural?" asked Sam gently. Barb was no dummy, and he didn't want to insult her. But she also was no Hunter, and she had to be shaken by the bloody scene she'd come across.

"Sam, there wasn't a single void in the blood," said Barb reasonably, though a hint snappishly. "Even if the rumor that all of the wounds are exactly the same on every single body is wrong, how would anyone do that? Not to mention, a person or even an animal would have had to leave footprints. I've seen CSI. And I promise you, I was perfectly sober."

Sam smiled to himself. It was good to hear her sounding more like herself. "I'm not doubting you, Barb. Not really. Just, most people we meet never run into anything supernatural the rest of their lives, you know?" Sam's phone buzzed, but he ignored it. He felt protective of the diminutive woman, as he knew Dean did. She was like a beloved aunt, or even grandmother, though they hadn't spent a great deal of time with her. She was as maternal as...Mary wasn't, Sam thought with a pang. Helping Barb out, he thought, would be good for Dean, just as killing some Thule (and, oh yeah, Hitler) had been good for both of them. "Saving people, hunting things" had always been the way they bounced back from the hardest times in their lives. If one of the people they saved was someone they cared for, that could only make it even better, even if they hadn't owed her big time.

"Then you'll look into it?"

"Of course we will, Barb!" said Sam warmly. "We're in Kansas, but we'll head your way soon. Let me talk to Dean, do a little research, get some stuff together, then I'll call you back to let you know when we expect to be there. I'm just sorry you had to see that, especially on vacation. And I'm sorry about your sister."

"Thank you." Barb sighed. "You know I wouldn't call if I had any idea what else to do. But we're so far out in the middle of nowhere there isn't even much of a police presence here."

"Don't worry about it, and don't be sorry! We owe you. I'm glad you called. Hey, can you text me an address? And, uh, remember how we put a line of salt across all your windows and doors before? Can you do that too? And try to make everyone stay inside? It would make me feel a lot better."

"Yes, yes. I remember the salt." She paused, and her voice took on the motherly tone Sam remembered so well. "You and Dean are...doing okay? This is really an okay time?"

The door at the top of the steps leading down to the maintenance room where Sam was opened and Dean called Sam's name. He didn't sound worried, but Sam had the feeling that the notification on his phone was Dean texting looking for him. He covered the phone and called out, "Down here, Dean. I'll be up in a minute. I'm on the phone." In a normal voice, he told Barb, "It really is. And Barb, you sound like you could use some sleep."

"Samuel Winchester, are you trying to tell me what to do?" asked Barb in what Sam thought of as her 'mom voice.' It made him smile again.

"Never. Except the salt thing. Talk to you soon. Be safe."

Sam went up to the main level of the bunker and found Dean, not surprisingly, putting away groceries in the kitchen. Dean took in Sam's wet sleeve and disheveled appearance with a raised eyebrow. "That was Barb Treece," said Sam, ignoring the unspoken question. He explained the situation briefly, helping put away the groceries, happy to see that Dean was buying more fresh, unprocessed food.

"Yeah, we can leave for Arizona any time," Dean agreed, as Sam had known he would. He snagged Sam's sleeve and turned his hand over to reveal the electrical burn on the palm Sam had already almost forgotten about. "And now let's talk about how you burned yourself and got a bump on your head in an empty bunker." He glanced around suspiciously. "We don't have any unwanted visitors, do we?"

Sam shook his head and looked at the ceiling in annoyance. "I would have mentioned anything like that, Dean. I was working on a leaky pipe in a tight space. When the phone rang, I bumped the wet wires, and that made me jump and bump my head. It's nothing." He pulled his hand free.

"Graceful, Sammy," smirked Dean. Luckily, he seemed to accept that the burn and bump were minor. He moved the bread from the bread box to the freezer in deference to the fact that they were leaving. "Clean that burn and I'll take care of the pipe."

"I'll finish it, Dean. I was already half done."

"No." Dean was firmly in bossy mode."I'll finish it, and you will clean that burn and do the research you're dying to do on the area where Barb and the Barbettes are hanging out." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "This better not be another bug curse."

Sam rolled his eyes and complained and ultimately went along with it, knowing that Dean being protective was a good sign that he was doing better, Mom's sudden departure notwithstanding. He had Dean call Barb back, too, knowing that the two would snipe at each other good-naturedly and end up cheering each other up. It was basically impossible to talk to Barb without smiling, and nobody could distract you from a stressful or painful situation like Dean. They deserved each other, Sam thought, in all of the best ways.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

"So, what did you find about Nowheresville, Arizona?" asked Dean around a sip of his green milkshake. Somehow, he always managed to get a few shamrock shakes from McDonald's this time of year. Not that Sam was going to mock him about it; he was drinking one too. Hey, sugar had its place.

"Not sure," Sam admitted. "Nothing that really jumps out. There's a story about bones continuing on with whatever the person was doing when they died, maybe because of a certain plant in the area. That comes from the Tohono O'odham tribe."

"Zombies?" asked Dean with clear excitement. He turned down Motorhead's Born to Raise Hell, obviously looking for entertainment for the long, boring drive. Sam was happy to indulge him.

"I don't think so. Zombies aren't exactly subtle or good at hiding. And this specifically says bones. That sounds more like an animated skeleton. It also says that they can be repelled by mats made from plants woven together. I've never heard of anything that repels zombies like that." Sam scratched the side of his neck. It would be a lot easier to research when he was somewhere with wifi and he could use the laptop. "A skinwalker is a possibility, maybe. The traditional kind that makes some kind of magical deal so they can transform into an animal. That might explain the violence of the attacks. And if they transformed back before anyone showed up, and pretended they just found the person dead, they might not be suspected since they weren't holding any weapons or anything."

"Naked and covered in blood?" asked Dean with understandable skepticism.

"We don't really know much about the traditional skinwalkers," Sam reminded Dean. "Some lore says they can inhabit an animal, like possession, then jump back into their own body, which could be a long ways away."

"You find anything about people seeing animals near the people who were killed?"

At one time, Sam might have been offended by Dean questioning everything he came up with, but that was long in the past. This was how they worked through a case, sharper when it was the two of them brainstorming together. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. This was why Dad had always questioned Sam's findings too, but it had taken Sam a long time to understand that. "No. And no motive I've found, either. As far as I can tell, there's no sign of any Native Americans even living this specific place."

Sam closed his eyes in thought for a second. "And none of those can explain what Barb said about blood everywhere without any voids. I mean, even a zombie skeleton would leave footprints. I'd say ghost except they're not usually so bloody with their kills."

"You'll figure it out and we'll gank the bitch," said Dean so confidently that Sam couldn't help but believe it. "The Golden Girls will be fine."

Sam glanced over at Dean with a little smile before getting back to work. Thus saith Dean Winchester, he thought whimsically.

A few minutes later, as Dean waxed poetic about all the things he hoped this wasn't, Sam frowned at his phone. He'd pulled up the website for the development and had been skimming the heavily hyped site for some basic information. He was ignoring the blatant appeal for those looking for a unique, upscale living situation, but something had caught his attention. "Hang on."

Orizzonte Rosso, which means "red horizon," was named for the Basile Estate. Around the turn of the century, Italian nobleman Dante Basile came to the New World to seek a new adventure. Basile spared no expense to make a beautiful homestead for his beloved wife Camilla, including a palatial house, extensive stables, and even a greenhouse for her to grow flowers to remind her of home town of Pienza, famous for the poppies that carpet the hills every spring. It is believed that it was Camilla who chose the fanciful name for their new home, whether in honor of the red flowers that adorn her homeland from horizon to horizon or the red earth that is such a big part of Arizona's natural beauty, no one knows.

Tragically, the Basiles did not get to enjoy the stunning vistas of Arizona for long. Just two years after their arrival, Camilla was killed when one of the prize horses spooked and she was trampled. A heartbroken Dante fell ill and died just a few months later – some say from a broken heart.

For 200 years, this amazing location has been empty – until now! Now the stark, remote magnificence can be yours to enjoy right outside your window, with every luxury...

"What?" asked Dean impatiently, as Sam had gotten caught up in his reading.

"The compound or whatever you want to call it, is being built on the site of a homestead where both of the homeowners apparently died young."

"Murdered?" asked Dean hopefully, and Sam couldn't help a little snicker because of Dean's eagerness that it was "just" a vengeful ghost. As Sam had said more than once, they had weird lives.

Of course, Sam was hoping the same thing...except, he just hoped if it was a ghost, the bones they needed to burn wouldn't be hard to find, even after all this time. "Maybe. That's not exactly in the brochure. The lady of the house was trampled by a horse, the guy died of some illness."

Dean grunted. "So, maybe the construction pissed off a not-quite-at-rest stiff."

Sam nodded. "Could be. I need to see the autopsy reports, and I can't hack anything from my phone. I mean, this could be any of a number of cryptids."

"Like?"

"Chupacabra."

"They eat their kills."

"Pukwudgie."

"Switching from poison arrows to claws?"

"Cactus cat."

"Dad was pretty sure they were extinct."

"Jackalope." Sam took a quick drink of his shake so he wouldn't grin.

"Dude. You swore you'd never mention those again." Dean shifted slightly in his seat, as if feeling the phantom pain of getting gored in the ass. "I don't bring up the mothman."

Now it was Sam's turn to squirm. The mothman's attack had very nearly emasculated him. Unwilling to ask Dean for help or have a stranger sew him up so close to his, er, manhood, he'd locked himself in the motel room bathroom and cleaned and sewed it up himself. And then passed out from blood loss wearing nothing but his boxers. Dean had had to carry him to bed and wrap Sam's thigh.

"Are you kidding me? You still bring it up!" Honestly, Dean could have been a lot worse in hassling Sam about it. That didn't mean Sam wanted to think about it...ever again. "Or it could be demonic," said Sam quickly. They both winced, just a little.

"I wish Barb and her sisters would leave," said Dean after a minute. He knew as well as Sam did that there might not be a lot more to find out until they could do some interviews and check out the crime scenes.

"I know." Sam agreed. He couldn't stand the thought of Barb, who was tough enough that Sam considered her almost an older Jody, being hurt, or having someone she loved being hurt. "But they feel like they're basically honoring their sister's last wish, you know? And Barb is right about one thing – you never know how much time you have with someone."

Dean gave Sam a side eye, like he thought Sam was trying to initiate some deep conversation. And Dean Winchester might not fear angels or demons or vampires or monsters, but he lived in near mortal terror of serious talks and chick flick moments. Sam smothered another snicker. If he laughed right now, Dean would think he was losing it.

"I'm just saying," Sam said, bailing Dean out. "Sounds like they've been putting off this vacation forever, and they're probably thinking that if they put it off again, they'll never do it." He wasn't about to bring up how often they'd lost people in their lives, including each other. Maybe it was a sugar high from the milkshake, maybe the prospect of seeing an old friend (and there were few enough of those in their world), or maybe it was just the joy of being on an actual road trip with his brother, but Sam wasn't thinking heavy thoughts at all. "You think Barb's sisters are just like her?"

Dean's eyes widened comically. "Good Lord," he breathed. Then he cocked his head to the side. "We met one of them, remember? Judy? I think she's a twin to the one that died."

"Yeah, she was just as, er, unique as Barb." Sam found himself smiling. Judy was even smaller than Barb, who barely topped five feet, and had flirted outrageously with Bobby, which had amused Dean almost as much as the way Bobby and Barb had sniped at each other. Judy, age-wise the middle of the five, had also told them she was the most interesting sister, describing the other sisters (in order of age) as follows: Myra as bossy, Caroline as a prude, Louise as an artist, and Barb as the "baby" who was "nuttier than a fruitcake" with a tendency to collect strays.

For her part, Barb had called Judy a nosy lunatic.

Dealing with the four living sisters all together was liable to be...interesting.

"Are you going to tell them you killed Hitler?"

Dean's face lit up, making him look like the cocky, high-spirited teenager he'd been so many years before. "Hell, yeah! Maybe they'll bake for me. Old ladies like to bake, right?" Barb had made some truly spectacular food for them both times they'd seen her before.

"I want to be there when you call Barb old."

Dean stopped loudly slurping the last little bit of his shake. "What do you think, I have a death wish?" He tossed the empty cup in the back seat. "Watch for a sign for another McDonald's."

Sam rolled his eyes. But he also smiled.

* * *

AN: It makes me so happy that people love Barb as much as I do! She was intended to be a one-off character in a one shot. I just imagined somebody random catching the Winchesters on a salt and burn.

Munchkins are a diminutive people inThe Wizard of Ozand other books in the same series. (Munchkin is also an absolutely fabulous game that started as a satirical version of Dungeons and Dragons, which is completely irrelevant to this story.)

If you've never had a shamrock shake from McDonald's, you're missing out. It's possibly my favorite form of junk food, unless you could fancy caramel-flavored coffee drinks from expensive coffee shops. It's a tragedy that McD's only carries them for a short while each year.

The story Sam referenced from the Tohono O'odham is the story of the transforming grandmother if you'd like to Google and read it.

My Italian comes 100% from Google translate.

stedan: Woohoo! So glad you like Barb! I hope the story lives up to your expectations.

muffinroo: Hooray for a Barb fan! Confession -- I've never actually been to Arizona, so if I screw something up, let me know, cuz I'm working from research and the input of a friend who lives near Gilbert. Who ya gonna call?

Timelady66: Barb is kind of my opposite, actually. I wish I were spunky, but I'm really pretty wimpy. She is named for my late mom. And some things about her are like my maternal grandmother. I am sarcastic like Barb, though!

bagelcat1: You are just so nice! You have no.idea how much I appreciate what you have to say. A friend recently said that fanfic writers are review whores and it's so true! Please write me an email, even just to say hey. I'm so happy you like Barb because I kind of love her. *g* Oh MAN about the boys meeting up with Barb between the last two eps. How dare you plant such an evocative idea in my head!!!! Dang it. You're lucky I love you.

Blondie20000: I did a happy dance to see your name pop up! I remember that you love Barb and it makes me happy.

immertreu: Don't apologize for not having a chance to review -- I get it! It's always nice to "see" you but I never expect or assume it. I would totally love to hear from you if and when you get a chance. In the meanwhile, I hope this story makes you smile.

Shazza: Hello! Sorry for the graphic death scene for that poor lady. I feel like my stories have gotten more graphic over time. Oops.

printandpolish: That made me grin like an idiot!

sfaulkenberry: Barb is BACK, baby! LOL I will have to go back and watch the parodies because you're right, they're amazing and it's been a minute since I've watched them. They are so well done, and so many details. I'm old enough to remember the original Ghostbusters movie, so all the things they pulled from it made me laugh so hard (Misha as Janine! Mark Pelligrino as Slimer!) Yeah, now I'm going to to watch them. Oh, and happy to have you reading this story. :-)

Colby's girl: I'm glad you like Barb and the story so far! Thanks for reading.