AN: I was just writing along, thinking about the next parts of the story, and schmoop happened. It wasn't supposed to, but the muse can be unpredictable that way. So you may want to take a scooper along as you read.

Janice helped immensely! She is a beta extraordinaire and a fellow UConn Husky fan.

* * *

Sam gave Dean almost the exact same look he'd given him when he'd tried to smuggle a puppy into a no-name motel in Bitter Creek, Missouri. And when he'd caught a turtle in rural Maine. And when Dean had caught him using his lunch money to buy food for the stray cats that lived near the trailer park where they were staying in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Only, this time there wasn't just a combination of defiance and plea and isn't he/she/they cute? There was also clear embarrassment.

"It's, uh, I didn't mean to bring it in here," Sam stammered as his newest stray rubbed against his face and purred louder. "I picked it up to keep it quiet and, well, didn't realize that we'd just be pulled through the door." He ran a hand through his hair and ended up scratching the rompo on the top of its head. "He's not dangerous."

The situation was so familiar that Dean would have laughed if he hadn't been so exasperated. "And what are you going to do when it makes noise and its mom and dad and 50 aunts and uncles show up?" he demanded. "Or when it gets hungry or needs to take a dump?"

"There is material in the walls so sound cannot escape the room," Beaumont offered, which was unhelpful, in Dean's opinion. He shot a quick glare at the ghost.

"We have quite a bit of food, and even if he gets hungry, he won't eat much," Sam tried. "But I think he might cry out for attention if we let him go, and if the other rompos figure out where we just were, Callista could too. And if she finds that spot, she might find the door. Also, if he seems like he has to go, I'll just take him out to the bathroom, just like we'll have to do. I bet he's smart enough to figure it out."

Dean disagreed, but Sam was probably right about the creature attracting attention if they let it go at this point, given the way it was now lying in Sam's arms like a baby, its tail swaying languidly where it hung down. And given the way Sam was scratching under its chin, he'd never agree to just killing the thing. Dean gave it up as a lost cause. "So why a panic room, Beau?" he asked the ghost, who was studying the rompo intently.

He turned to Dean instead and looked like he was going to protest the nickname. Instead, he said, "Actually, it was designed to be a psychomanteum. A place to enhance one's chances of communing with the dead. Ironic, isn't it? Apparently it works." The apparition actually gave a rueful smile before continuing. "The floor is made from wormwood, and there is yarrow and sage worked into the planks. The walls are yew wood, and there is spellwork carved everywhere to make it conducive to spirits. And the entire floor is a talking board. I certainly wasn't aware that I would find refuge here as a spirit myself."

Dean looked at the floor. It wasn't very bright in the room with only candlelight, but he could just make out an alphabet arc, a line of numbers, and the words Yes and No. He wondered irreverently if Beaumont's wheelchair was supposed to be the planchette.

"Can Callista scry us here? Are we jeopardizing your safety by being here?" asked Sam, because he would be the guy to worry about the safety of a ghost. (And, okay, maybe Dean loved that about him, but he was honor-bound as a big brother to roll his eyes.)

"I do not believe so." Beaumont's pale eyes lit up the same way Sam's did when some weird new fact or idea caught his attention. "You see, the mirror is a spirit mirror. It gives off an emanation that should obscure your essence from scrying. Watch." He moved close to the mirror and the surface slid from silver to black, the reflection of the room disappearing. When Marberry was directly in front of the mirror and facing it, it showed nothing except his face. But it didn't show his face as they saw it. It showed a very much alive version in full color.

Sam's mouth dropped open. He was so intrigued that he forgot to keep scratching his new pet. "Is it obsidian? Like John Dee's, or the Aztec smoking mirrors?"

Beaumont smiled proudly. "Partly. The obsidian is behind the silver, the glass itself is Flint glass, and there's a powerful Japanese incantation worked into the frame that says that spirits are called and welcome."

Sam peered closely. When he was closer to the mirror than the ghost was, it went back to normal.

"That's cool and all, but how does that keep the witch-bitch from finding us?" Dean probed. He didn't care if it was Japanese or a John Deere or whatever. He just cared that they were safe for the moment.

"It has a bright aura," Beaumont elaborated. "Imagine that you are looking for a lantern in the dark. If there were a large campfire behind the lantern, it would be obscured by the much brighter light."

Dean nodded. He could see Sam was gearing up for a big, long, useless discussion about the mirror and the room with a fellow geek, so he blurted, "Why are you still in a wheelchair? I mean, you can fly and go through walls and stuff now, right?" Maybe it wasn't the most tactful thing he'd ever said, but his other thought had been to ask something along the lines of why the hell did you build a psychowhatever room? And that likely would have led to a different but equally long-winded explanation or a very personal reason, neither of which he was especially interested in.

Sam looked horrified but Beaumont didn't. "It gets very difficult sometimes to remember who I am, or at least, who I was," the latter answered with no censure in his voice. "I must stay calm and focus very hard to stay rational. Thinking of myself as I was, even rolling myself around, helps." He demonstrated by ably backing up the chair and turning it to face Dean.

"Pretty impressive," Dean admitted. "Most ghosts go batshit in a pretty short amount of time, especially those who were offed violently and have an axe to grind."

Sam looked like he would have face-palmed if his arms weren't full of rompo baby – romplet, he decided arbitrarily -- but again, Beaumont didn't look offended, so Dean figured it was fine.

Beau changed the subject. "I kept a change of clothes in here, for I occasionally slept in here hoping the dead would visit my dreams." The slender ghost looked skeptically at the two living men. If he was the same size as a ghost as he'd been while living, he was smaller in every dimension than either Winchester. "I don't know that anything will fit, but feel free to check." He pointed at a footlocker at the end of the cot.

"You don't have a sewing kit, do you?" Dean asked regretfully, looking down. His shirt was little more than a rag with sleeves and a collar and there was quite a bit of skin showing through the new ventilation in his jeans.

Beaumont, naturally, did not. Dean only glanced at the clothes, well aware that nothing would fit even if he did want pleated pants or a smoking jacket. Sam took the undershirt for himself and somehow stretched it over his shoulders. It was so tight that if he got goosebumps, you'd be able to make them out through the white shirt, and there was a good three inches of space between the bottom of the shirt and the top of Sam's jeans.

Dean couldn't stop laughing at the sight. "Nice extra shmedium shirt, Zoolander!" he crowed, literally crying and leaning against the wall from laughing so hard. The romplet leaped back into Sam's arms and started chittering at Dean like an angry magpie, which only made him laugh harder.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped. He was holding the book that he'd carried all the way from the library with the siren in it. "Help me figure out some answers or do something else useful."

"Oh my God, you're like a pornographic version of Blue's Clues," Dean gasped, out of breath from hysterical laughter. If Sam answered, he didn't hear it, busy imagining Sam tromping around a cartoon world looking for clues. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt. (Or that might be from eating a couple pounds worth of German chocolate cake, but tom- ay-to, tom- ah-to.)

Sam, grinding his teeth hard enough to make the muscles in his jaw jump, took one of the books off the shelves. He sat on the footlocker and leaned against the wall since there were no chairs in the room. Through it all, the little rompo rode on his shoulder. When Sam leaned back against the wall to read, the creature let itself tumble down to his lap. With a little smile, Sam caught it to make sure it didn't fall all the way off, and his hand just stayed there, buried in the thick, dark fur.

Dean mentally shook his head. Leave it to Sam to connect to a stray monster. He bit his lip to keep from laughing again at the sight Sam made in his tiny t-shirt with the Lovecraftian kitten on his lap and looked around the room a little better. There wasn't much, but amongst the books there were some odd little items that he was certain weren't just for decoration. Since Sam was busy, Dean took it upon himself to inspect the room with care.

"There's a candle on a chamberstick under the cot," Beaumont told him. The chamberstick turned out to be a flat holder with a circle handle and a small candle on a spike in the middle. Dean went to light it from the candelabra, but Beau snapped his fingers and a flame appeared. "It's the one and only bit of witchcraft I ever learned," he said, a touch ruefully. "Your great-grandfather could do far more with potions and such, for which I had no talent, but he could not do any spells without a physical aid, so we considered our gifts to be about equal, though I always held that his were more useful as they were more varied and therefore more versatile."

"You kept the ability even after, uh, your death?" Sam asked suddenly, diverted from his reading.

"Strange, no?" the ghost said, the note of remorse or regret still in his voice. "When I discovered that, I attempted to light the witch on fire. Sadly, she is always shielded and neither the fire nor this form could penetrate her shields."

"What happened?" Dean wanted to know. He began to slowly examine the wall. The candle and its holder made him picture himself like Shaggy, in a long nightshirt and a nightcap, investigating some creepy old mansion. The biggest difference, of course, was that Dean was happily talking to the ghost of this mansion. And he wasn't a coward...or a talking dog.

"She threw some powder at me," Beaumont explained. "It caused me to dissolve and I almost couldn't reform myself. I retreated here, and it was years before I was able to even make myself visible again."

"Powder?" Sam muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Dean knew what that meant; something had caught his brother's attention and made him think. He was really lost to them now, as he'd be reading, thinking, and researching until he put together whatever had caught his attention.

"There's no other way out of here except through the portal thingie, right?" Dean asked the ghost. Beau had already showed them how to get out – you had to tap the wall in a certain place and at a certain rhythm and you'd find yourself back in the pocket-sized bathroom.

Beaumont confirmed that. He also explained a few other things as Dean kept up his exploration. Some of it was useless, like the proportions of the room and how they encouraged spirit interactions. ("I did see some ghosts while I was alive but never...communicated," he'd said, though Dean was pretty sure he'd initially intended to finish that sentence differently.) More interesting were the explanations of the various items interspersed with the books.

There was a circlet made of tiny, oddly-shaped antlers that Beaumont swore was the crown of an alder king and was supposed to give spirits strength. There was a corked glass bottle full of amber liquid that rolled and swirled around without any outside influence that he claimed was honey from something called a jinshin-mushi. Supposedly, having some around gave spirits a sense of welcome, since it was a tradition offering to one's ancestors. ("Empirically, I have to admit that I feel nothing from it since my physical demise, which is disappointing, as it cost me over $100,000.") Dean set the jar back down very carefully after learning that. He was pretty sure Beau would have no use for it now, but he didn't want to risk a suddenly infuriated angry spirit if he broke it.

There was a pair of gloves made from extremely rare silk, a little purse made of the same and full of moonstones that the old ghost admitted were probably fake and a lot of supposedly blessed or consecrated objects from places all over the world.

"This is quite the haul, Beau," Dean said, inspecting a spun-glass monstrosity that looked like a lion fish and a naked mole rat had a baby together and someone threw neon paint all over it. "And here witchy told us that she'd found your secret lair and all your magic books."

"The secret room off my study?" Beaumont asked, a little arrogantly. "That held some valuable books and items, certainly. And it served as a different sort of panic room, to use your words. But it was also a bit of a red herring. I hoped that, in the event of my death, anyone hoping to plunder the more esoteric and dangerous items I owned would think they'd found it all when they discovered that room. And thus this room would stay safe until my lawyer sent a letter I already had written to your great-grandfather and John could come and take all of this into his custody." His lips twisted bitterly. "However, the witch somehow convinced everyone that I was still alive for many years after she killed me."

The double-blind probably would have sounded like a paranoia to most people, but Dean approved. And of course, Beaumont's concerns had turned out to be more than justified.

"I...may be able to help you," the ghost said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin in a way that reminded Dean of his dad. "I need to do some reading first to be certain. Could you get out a book for me and open it where I show you? I can turn pages, but I cannot lift an entire book."

Dean complied and got out a large, dusty book that had some big huge title about prophecy and Ursula somebody and a bunch of other stuff that he didn't bother to read. Once Beaumont was reading, Dean glanced around to help him decide what to do next. He wanted to try to convince the old guy to help them but had a feeling the dude wasn't easily rushed. Sam was deep in his reading, too, so Dean should probably see if he could help with researching a way to take out Callista or escape the house so they could regroup and come back. Dean would dearly love to sic Rowena on her. Maybe they could destroy each other and rid the world of two witches at the same time.

Sam yawned and it made Dean yawn too. The romplet was already asleep sprawled on its back across Sam's lap. Dean checked his watch and discovered it was getting late. "Hey, Sam, why don't you grab a few hours' sleep?" Dean asked. "We'll be a hell of a lot sharper if we get some shut-eye before going after Callista. Not being able to find us should piss her off, too."

Sam looked up. He looked tired but not wrecked. "I'm kinda in the middle of this," he said, absent-mindedly petting the animal – monster! It was a monster, and Dean needed to remember that, since Sam didn't seem to – that was asleep on his legs. "Why don't you sleep first?"

Dean shrugged. "Why not?" He toed off his boots and curled on the way-too-small cot. He half wondered if he'd have a hard time sleeping with Beaumont there. He was pretty tired, though. Maybe he was entitled, since in just one day, they'd rappelled down a freaking tower and faced a witch and a wendigo and some fairies and a sea wolf guardian (who turned out to be a good guy despite his looks) and a siren and a spider lady and a poltergeist and juiced-up vamp and a ghost (who was also a good guy) and the witch again and...and he fell asleep before he finished the thought.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean went from sleeping to wide awake, which he often did when they were in the middle of a hunt. "You can sleep more if you want, Dean," said Sam softly, as Dean remembered where they were and why there was a wheelchair-bound ghost reading at a table in front of a mirror that reflected him as a living person.

"No, I'm good." Dean smacked his lips a couple times and sat up. He felt surprisingly rested despite the thinness of the cot's mattress. He would have paid good money for a shower and a toothbrush, though. He stood and stretched, groaning happily when his back cracked loudly. "I'm gonna drain the lizard and take a quick glance around out there, then you can grab some sleep. I can take the thing out there and let it go," he added hopefully, gesturing at the romplet, which was perched on Sam's shoulder like a parrot-wannabe.

Sam muttered something inaudible.

"What?" Dean had a sinking feeling he knew the gist of what Sam had said.

"I said I'm calling him Timothy and I don't think it's a good idea to let him go right now," Sam answered, not looking at Dean.

There were about five different things Dean wanted to say to that, most of them fairly rude and along the lines of why would you name something we'll probably have to gank? But looking at the look on Sam's face looking at the ball of fur curled on his lap, the only thing that came out of Dean's mouth was, "You named him after the dog in those Famous Five books you were obsessed with for a while, didn't you?"

Sam's cheeks heated. "I'm going to sleep," he grumbled. It took some work, but he got himself situated on the little cot, half on his back, half on his side, knees hanging off the side and 'Timothy' happily tucked in as the little spoon. Dean could only roll his eyes.

To his surprise, after coming back into the little room, Dean found himself talking softly with Beaumont as they both did some reading. He had the impression that the ghost and Sam had done the same thing. Dean found the guy to be a touch arrogant and fairly formal, but he also asked for no pity whatsoever, despite growing up in a time in which his disability made most people consider him useless. Dean could respect that.

Beaumont, largely ignored by his parents and unable to run and play with other kids, had immersed himself in learning at a very young age. His aptitude for investments had grown the family fortune from modest to imposing. Against the odds, he'd fallen in love with someone who didn't care that he was in a wheelchair, but she'd fallen ill with pneumonia and died before they could be married.

"You are the older brother?" Beau asked unexpectedly, not really a question. When Dean nodded, the ghost said, "My older brother would have inherited everything, but there is not one doubt in my mind that he would have supported me for the rest of my life without a single thought of complaint, even if we were not wealthy. It would never have occurred to him to do any different."

Dean nodded again. That was the way it should be. "But…?"

"He died young. He was strong and healthy, then fell ill and was gone in a few months. After he died, the doctor found growths in his stomach."

"I'm sorry," Dean said, and he meant it. He wondered if the lifelong quest to reach out to the dead was motivated by the fiancée or the brother but would never ask.

"Your brother is a good man, and highly intelligent. He already figured out some things I never realized," Beaumont said, again not lingering over the hard parts of his life.

"He's the brains of the operation," Dean answered automatically, feeling the pride he always did when someone recognized Sam's brainpower.

Beaumont smiled a little. "He said you are 'smarter than you let on' but tend to downplay your own strengths. He also said you're the best man he's ever known."

Dean swallowed the rock that had suddenly appeared in his throat. He and Sam rarely said such things to each other. Dean knew that somehow Sam, who really was the finest person he'd ever known, still looked up to Dean, but to hear it was something else. "He's the one who doesn't see his own value," Dean finally said, a little hoarsely. He looked at his big little brother, barefoot and wearing that stupid shirt, with a baby monster snoring softly on his chest. After all they'd been through and all the forces that had tried to tear them apart over the years, they were still fighting side-by-side and sometimes, that was all that mattered.

They were quiet for a while, then Beaumont spoke again, even softer than before. "You are both good men. You are Men of Letters, but you are more – you are trying to use what you know to make the world a better place. So I am going to tell you about something that I've never told anyone before. About a weapon that is in the house and that should never be used and can not fall into the hands of the witch or anyone else. It is so powerful that I've never trusted anyone with the knowledge of it, not even your great-grandfather. It has to be destroyed. In exchange, you must swear you will find a way to free my staff and me."

Dean's mind raced. A powerful weapon hidden in the house? Chuck knew, they could use something like that. They'd handled things before that were supposedly too powerful for human beings. "We would have done that anyway," he said. No matter their background, ghosts hanging around on Earth never ended up well. And Beau and his employees had been trapped for a long time. They deserved a chance at what came next.

But why would Beaumont change his mind about Sam and Dean now and after knowing them such a short period of time? He'd revealed that he and the elder John Winchester had become such good friends that the latter had made the then-difficult trip from Normal, Illinois to Washington twice for long visits, and he'd apparently never told John about this supposed weapon. It could be he was really concerned about the weapon falling into the wrong hands and figured he might not get another chance to get it away from Callista.

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean asked.

The ghost didn't answer immediately. "Because Sam reminds me of John. Because you remind me of my brother. Because you both care more about protecting each other than your own lives. But mostly because I now believe you can actually beat the witch. You know Sam realized that he's never seen her perform any magic without some physical aid? He believes that if the demon is destroyed or exorcised that she will prove to be only a pedestrian witch at best, and I agree."

That rang true, but Dean was excellent at reading people – and ghosts – and he could feel that there was more than Beaumont wasn't saying. "And…?"

Beaumont smiled the widest smile Dean had seen on his face so far and it felt like the guy was proud of him or something. Or like he felt vindicated. He silently patted the book in front of him. "And I have one of the rarest books in the world, a book of prophecies from a woman named Ursula Southiel, who lived around the time of Shakespeare. She played the parlor games to become famous, but in studying her private works I've come to believe she was an extremely accurate seer. She correctly predicted many world events. She claimed that one day there would be a pair of world-breaking and world-saving brothers who would defy destiny at every turn and win battles no human could possibly win. But what interests me most is that in her final prophecy, she said that those brothers would 'forever silence Calliope, muse of epic poetry'. And when I asked Sam if he'd heard of Calliope, he said that you two had killed her. In any case, I have a feeling that you and Sam are even more than you seem. I can't think of anyone else to trust with a weapon that could possibly kill out every living thing for hundreds of miles."

That was...a lot. Even for them. If he didn't know just how wiped Sam had to be, Dean would have woken him right then for a powwow because there was nothing like talking out a big mess like this with the whiz kid for Dean to start to get a handle on it. Beau kept nattering on, but Dean was hardly listening. Instead, his mind was whirling with, well, everything.

Devastating weapon...in the house...Callista could find it...still traps everywhere...Sammy has a pet monster...demon to gank...only two bullets left...ghosts to free...Kade to free…some old prophet and talked about us?...world-breakers?

"...have something belonging to the witch, then I can teach you a location spell," Beaumont was saying. "So that you have a chance to get to the key –"

"Wait. What key?"

Beaumont looked at Dean for a second, giving him exactly the same expression that Sam did when he caught Dean not listening. Then he said, "The weapon is beneath the floor in the room off my study. I believe the demon may be imprisoned there because the entire floor is a demon trap and the walls are made of salted iron, which is why I cannot go there to be sure that the demon is held there. There is a hole in the floor for a special key. The key will not be easy to get, because it is within Calliope."

"Within…" Dean's head hurt. If he was following, the second secret room, which Callista had found, was ghost- and demon-proof? And the weapon was underneath it, probably under the feet of a demon. But they couldn't get to the weapon without some key that was part of a goddess Sam had shanked years earlier.

"Pardon me. Inside a statue of the muse, which is in –"

"The music room." Dean rubbed his face. "Some of the statues got busted earlier. Which one will be Callie?"

"She is holding a book," Beau answered, not asking how exactly the statues had gotten broken even though he clearly wanted to. Dean couldn't remember if that was one of the broken ones or not.

"Just to be clear, you need me and Sam to find our way to the music room, get a key out of a statue, find your study and the hidden room off it, gank the demon that's there, get out some super-nuke and destroy it, kill ourselves a witch, then dig up a mass grave and send you and all your people on to the next world, right? All while dodging whatever traps and monsters are still has around, including something named Raeford that the sea wolf warned us about? And the reason you believe we can is because you think some prophet from Shakespeare's time was talking about us?" Saying it aloud didn't make it sound any less nuts.

"Essentially correct."

"We should have brought more food. And ammo. And maybe some Xanax," Dean complained. He needed a beer. He would bet everything he owned that shit like this had never happened to Bobby or Rufus or Dad.

"One more thing," Beau said, because he apparently didn't think Dean was stressed enough yet. "There is something, er, sniffing around outside the bathroom that leads here." He closed his eyes in concentration. "He looks like a man, but he has claws."

Maybe killing something would make Dean feel a little better. "I'll look into it," he said standing up.

"Shouldn't you take your brother?"

"Nah." Dean stretched his arms behind himself until both shoulders popped. "I'll take care of it a quick sec. No big deal."

* * *

AN: There are 458 million references this time (approximately). Sorry for that. I just don't want to leave anything out, which I probably still did.

The concept of a space or room specifically set aside for communication with the dead and called a psychomanteum is a real thing. However, it wasn't actually popularized until the 1990's, so for the purposes of the story, I assumed that it had been around a lot longer but just wasn't known to very many people.

John Dee was a mathematician and occultist who was part of Queen Elizabeth I's court. He famously had an obsidian "mirror" that is believed to have been an Aztec artifact that he ostensibly used to communicate with the dead. John Deere was a pioneer of early tractors and other farm equipment.

Flint glass is especially dense and refractive, made by mixing flint and lead in with the sand particles when melting into a pane. Is it magic? Quien sabe? Who knows?

Zoolander is a 2001 movie comedy. The title character is a male model.

Blue's Clues is a TV show for preschoolers in which a real-life host interacts with a cartoon dog (Blue) and its cartoon home to find clues and solve a little "mystery."

An alder king is a fairy creature, sometimes called the king of fairies. Jinshin-mushis are Japanese insectoid cryptids, though the honey and its properties are just from my own imagination. A giant version of the supposedly fist-sized creatures was in Godzilla: King of the Monsters, though I didn't know that until after I wrote the chapter.

The Famous Five refers to a series of children's adventure books. One of the characters has a very loyal and intelligent dog named Timmy.

Ursula Southiel was real and called herself a prophet. The Winchesters killed Calliope is season 10, episode 5, Fan Fiction.

Colby's girl: In this chapter, Dean actually got to hear some compliments! Whether or not he believed them, well… We had white on the ground again this morning and I'm not pleased about it. C'mon already, spring!

sfaulkenberry: I am such an animal lover that it's kind of ridiculous. I started writing about the little rompo (romplet, since that sounds so cute!) and decided I want one for a pet. And I named it after my dad because I once named an OC for my mom (Barb) and she became my favorite OC ever. Besides, my dad is mischievous and playful and loves animals as much as I do, so it seemed pretty appropriate. And you are so right – Winchesters don't play by the rules!

Janice: Nobody specifically said if they caught the Scooby reference in the name of the chapter that you came up with for me (since I suck at titles SO much). I can't stop wondering if there was a little bit of deliberate imitation on the part of the SPN writers now that you suggested it. I like to think so. After all, who doesn't love Scooby? I put another Scooby reference in this chapter just for fun.

Jenjoremy: No kidding! Can you imagine just how damage they've done to the house and its contents by this point? How much all of that would cost? Callista was certainly unprepared for the carnage the Winchesters can wreak. LOL And isn't it cute to imagine Sam with a cute little pet? I was going aw the whole time I was writing about it. Oh, and I know I gave Sam more clothing instead of less in this chapter, but hopefully you still liked the visual of the little tiny, too-short shirt!

Timelady66: Gotta love the mix of smarts and badassery! At least, I love it. The garrote is a great idea, but I don't know how they'd get the wire loose from the piano. I'm still thinking about it, though. As you probably picked up in this chapter, they have to go back to the music room. I am falling in love with little Timothy myself, so he'll probably stick around for a while. The thought of him sticking out his tongue at Callista is fabulous! That cross stitch group sounds amazing! I never had the patience for cross-stitch though I do knit. Over the years, I've made a pot holder with the words "Hello Boys" and one with the guys' initials (and others, like one with a Dalek and one with the TARDIS). LOL Werewolf, huh? No promises...

muffinroo: As so often is the case, Janice came up with the chapter title. It's pretty standard for me to send her a chapter with a request for title help. Did you catch that it comes from a line in the Scooby Doo theme song? I loved that visual too. So, is it okay that I gave Sam a shirt? Sort of...

sylvia37: I love the little romplet! Of course, I love pretty much everything that's furry. I'm so glad you like the story!

Christine: Can you tell that I'm a cat lover? Little Timothy will stick around for a while, promise.

Chiiva: I'm happy that you're enjoying reading! It's pretty fun to write since I can just keep tacking on monsters and places.

Kathy: No action in this chapter, but I promise more is coming. I had to give the guys a break and Beaumont really wanted his story to be told. Maybe the chapters with more than one monster help make up for this one. Of course, I doubt that you minded the little bit of schmoop that showed up in this one. I went against the norm and actually gave Sam some more clothing instead of less, but I personally enjoy imagining him in a super tight and too short shirt! So far the baby rompo seems pretty innocent, but you never really know, right?

Guest: Thank you so much for commenting! This format gives me so much leeway to bring in whatever monsters I find and can think of, which is very fun. Coming up with nutty improvised weapons has been a lot of fun, too. So far, so good, with cute little rompo Timothy. (I want one!) I'm glad you're reading and hope you continue to enjoy the story.