(A/N- Okay, okay, I can't stop it there. Y'all convinced me not to be evil and leave you hanging with the eyes.

And now, for something completely different: In a spooky way, my younger brother and I act kind of like Sam and Dean… y'know, if I were male and we weren't total chickens… We'd be the ones outside "guarding the car" while they were doing the suicidal hero stuff.

Random snippet of amusing conversation:

Me: I've noticed that whenever I start talking about Supernatural, you change the subject.

Mark (my brother): Hey, look, is that smoke? (pantomimes trying to light the sole of his shoe on fire)

I made chocolate mousse from scratch today. Be proud of me!)

"–And then the demon pulled the plane into a nosedive, and everyone started freaking out."

"Even you?"

"Even me," Dean admitted, enjoying the wide-eyed disbelief on Kate's face. "Not Sam, though; he didn't miss a beat. He finished the exorcism and sent the demon back to hell."

"You're so brave, Sam!" Maddy said with an adoring smile that induced a warm, fuzzy feeling in the young hunter whose lap she was once again occupying.

They weren't sure how it had happened, but one way or another Sam and Dean had been roped into reciting their adventures to the Harvey girls, who listened to each tale with rapt attention. Dean, in particular, had proved himself surprisingly good at telling only slightly embellished accounts of their heroics, and Sam was more than happy to just fill in an important detail here and there to make the stories flow a bit smoother; when Dean got really into something, all he wanted to focus on was the ass-kicking.

No doubt about it: the Brothers Grimm had nothing on the Winchesters.

"Tell us another one!" Bryce commanded, bouncing excitedly and looking at Dean with newfound respect – which wasn't to say that she intended to go any easier on him in their next round of five-card stud.

"You girls aren't bothering Sam and Dean, are you?" Sabine asked, entering the room with a big batch of delicious-smelling "hero cookies" and setting them on the coffee table. Sam's mouth began to water; he really was like a premenstrual female when there was chocolate involved.

"No, Mama," the girls chorused.

Sam grabbed a cookie, took a bite, and nearly whimpered with chocoholic bliss. If the rest of Sabine's cooking was the second best thing to sex, her chocolate cookies were at least equivalent to it. Given the choice between sex and chocolate… Well, it would probably have to be sex, since simultaneously they would throw him into a pleasure overdose and he'd die, but one right after the other would be ideal.

Mmm… Post-coital chocolate mousse…

"Tell Mama how you kicked the Wendigo's ass, Dean!"

"Bryce, watch your language."

"Yes, Mama," the ten-year-old replied with the most innocent look she could muster. The little exchange made Dean remember the first time he'd said "fuck" in his father's presence and not been yelled at for it. That was such a happy memory. Of course, John had started yelling at him again when it became apparent that Dean was trying to work the oath into at least fifty phrases per day, but for a while there life was fucking beautiful.

After the cookies had been devoured and the Winchesters agreed that they'd probably gained ten pounds each just since arriving in Oakvale, the next mission was to stock up on silver bullets because they were running low. Luckily the locals were a superstitious bunch, descended from Druids and Gypsies respectively, and the small town down the road from the McLeod-Harvey estate featured a shop that actually sold such supplies as holy water, wooden stakes, silver bullets, and Voodoo paraphernalia.

Sam and Dean found themselves spending quite some time in said shop. In Sam's case, this was to make sure they had plenty of supplies if ever they should need them. In Dean's case, it was mostly to flirt with – and see if there was any possibility of getting into the pants of – the cute brunette behind the counter whose nametag proclaimed her "Cassandra;" a pursuit abruptly, albeit reluctantly ended when she let slip that she wasn't quite eighteen yet.

Dean Winchester may not have been a completely law-abiding fellow, but this was a small town, and he wasn't too keen on the idea of Cassandra's daddy coming after him with a loaded shotgun for corrupting his underage daughter. He'd been through that song and dance way too many times – not with underage girls, per se, but just small-town girls in general.

The smaller the town, the bigger the angry daddy's gun; it was a law of nature.

"It's a damn shame," he sighed as he and Sam returned to the car.

"What, that you won't get laid tonight? You're just… you're… there are no words for what you are, Dean."

Dean disagreed wholeheartedly with this. He could think of several good adjectives to apply to himself: handsome, witty, charming, and awesome in bed to name a few. But enlightening his baby brother to that fact would probably just win him a petulant eye-roll and a long-suffering sigh, so he felt no need to correct Sammy's rather grievous error.

Sam made a point of lingering on the front porch for a few minutes after he and Dean returned to the house. The air was warm and peaceful, filled with cricket-song and the sound of the nearby creek.

But regardless of the idyllic scene, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. It was just a feeling; just a prickling feeling at the back of his neck as though someone or something was watching him.

A second before going inside, he thought he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned sharply to see what was there. He stared at the bushes for a good thirty seconds. Nothing happened.

"Probably a raccoon," he murmured to himself.

But he made sure the front door was locked and dead-bolted anyway. Just in case.

(A/N- Oooh, I'm starting to have some fun with this! Sorry about Sam's sex-and-chocolate spiel, I couldn't resist…)