(A/N- Woohoo, Politically-Correct-And-Totally-Unaffiliated-With-Any-Religion Winter Break! dances

Snippet o' conversation:

(Taking place during the last, like, seven minutes of the Bloody Mary episode)

Mark: (referring to the horrible, obligatory helper-girl character) Hah! It's too late now! She's killed herself already!

Me: Nah. She's in the backseat of the car… read into that what you will.

Mom: (rolls eyes)

Mark: (sniggers and mimics Obnoxious Extraneous Character's mid-coitus shouts of approval to Dean and Sam)

By the way, it takes a very secure – and perverted – man to smile coyly and ask if he looks like Paris Hilton when there's night vision on. My respect for Dean went up several points, and my mom didn't understand why I was giggling… I'm in no hurry to explain it to her.

And for a little rant, what is with all the skinny, bleach-blonde, stock-hottie female characters? When are we gonna see a plump and/or bespectacled brunette or redhead, or a black or Asian or Indian girl for that matter? Come on, let's expand our horizons here, people, everyone in America is not perfectly Anglo-Saxon…

…Yes I realize Sabine is blonde, but she's also happily married and not afraid to bleed (and written with the ashy, natural blonde color in mind – just trust me), which negates the Supernatural Stock-Hottie factor.)

When someone's offering you free food and lodging, it's only polite to repay them by restocking their silver bullet supply. With that in mind, Sam and Dean had bought extra ammo at the occult shop and presented it to Sabine, who gave them the key to her armory and simple instructions as to where to put the bullets – a task that should have taken only a few seconds, and probably would have had Sam been the one in charge of it.

But as it were, this was not the case.

"This woman is a goddess," Dean said, with the wide-eyed awe of a five-year-old child who has just entered Toys R Us for the very first time with instructions to go ahead and pick out anything and everything he wants.

The armory was nearly the size of the guest bedrooms, and was filled with all that a weapons-junkie could ever dream of. Three walls were hung with guns and swords of every shape and size – Uzis, shotguns, machetes, rifles, broadswords, scimitars; even an AK-47. The fourth wall held Sabine's bow collection, with a large crossbow occupying the place of honor. And if Dean wasn't mistaken, there was also…

"Oh, baby, come to Daddy," he breathed reverently, picking up the flamethrower and cradling it to his chest like an infant, cooing lovingly to it.

"You worry me sometimes," Sam informed, locating the drawer labeled "silver bullets" and dropping the pouch of ammo inside while his older brother continued to nuzzle his cheek against the flamethrower.

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy, you know how long I've wanted one of these!" Dean whined, gazing covetously at the weapon. "Dad would never let me have a flamethrower."

"Because you've been showing all the warning signs of pyromania since the tender age of three, Dean."

Dean smirked. "You still haven't gotten over me setting your teddy bear on fire, have you?"

"I loved that teddy bear."

"We were doing Hawaiian culture in my social studies class, dude; he was a sacrifice to Pele."

"The hell he was, you pyro."

"What's taking you boys so long, the spaghetti's almost–? Oh, Dean, I should have known better than to let you see that thing..."

Dean grinned sheepishly, but continued to pet the flamethrower. Sabine shook her head and sighed.

Sam opened his mouth to say something nice and snarky about Dean's tendency to be more attracted to pyrotechnics than to women, but his train of thought was interrupted by a loud thud, and Maddy screaming at the top of her lungs.

"There's one outside! It's trying to get through the door!"

Sabine had snatched up a shotgun and was out of the room before Sam could even register the significance of Maddy's words, but it hit him a split-second later.

His gut instincts had been right; they'd celebrated too soon.

"You just had to wish for more of them, didn't you, Dean?"

"What in God's name is going on?" David demanded.

"Slight miscalculation of Oakvale's werewolf population," Sam replied, as he and Dean followed Sabine to the back door, the creature on the other side of which was letting out snarls that would put Hollywood to shame. David paled considerably, as people usually do when it is proven to them that yes, monsters do exist, and that thing under your bed when you were seven probably did want to eat you.

It was a stark contrast to the manic glee on Dean's face as he examined the flamethrower in his hands.

"Man, I was hoping I'd get to try this thing out! C'mon, Sammy, let's go fry a werewolf."

Sabine gave him what could only be described as the "Mom" look.

"Boy, if you break my flamethrower…"

Sam bent down to the five-year-old child staring at the door with horror. "Maddy, you stay back with your father," he said, giving her a gentle push toward David, and whipping around just in time to see the door splinter, break, and fall apart, admitting a very large and annoyed-looking werewolf.

Sam and Sabine had to pump a few rounds into the monster before it finally fell, dead.

"My God," David breathed, staring at the corpse as though if he tried hard enough not to believe it was there, it would somehow disappear. By that time Kate and Bryce had heard all the noise, and had come running to see what was going on, and were more than a little disturbed by the bloody lycan carcass on the linoleum.

"Oh, hell," said Bryce.

More snarls sounded outside. Sam cursed under his breath. Dean flashed a half-crazed grin and darted outside to try out his new toy. Howls, sizzles, and whoops of joyful pyromania commenced outside. Sam peeked out the door, and learned with revulsion that when flames were taken to a werewolf, said werewolf met the same fate as an overcooked hotdog.

It didn't take the werewolves long to realize that they weren't faring too well out in the open against a lunatic with a flamethrower, and the un-ignited creatures took flight into the woods.

"Dude, I love this thing!" Dean crowed, coming back into the house looking ecstatic, though slightly more singed than normal. "The rest of 'em ran off, we gotta go after 'em."

"David, keep the girls inside," Sabine said, pushing her daughters toward her husband.

"Mama, let us fight, too," Bryce insisted. "You said yourself we're better shots than most of the men in town!" Sabine shook her head.

"You're too young."

"I'm thirteen, Mama!" Kate said stubbornly. "Same age Dean was last time; he told me so!"

Dean cringed under the glare Sabine shot him. "Sorry," he mouthed. Of all the things to come back and bite you in the ass…

"Kathleen Ann Harvey, you will stay in this house whether you like it or not."

"But Dean's father let him–"

"I am nothis father!" Sabine snapped, the uncharacteristic harshness in her voice making everyone in the room flinch. "John Winchester's decision to sacrifice his own children for the so-called greater good is his own damned business, but you are my child – not his – and you will stay in this house. Is that perfectly clear?"

Way to drive the proverbial dagger into a guy's heart, Dean thought wryly, now officially feeling like shit.

Sabine and her eldest daughter stared each other down for a good three seconds.

"Yes, ma'am," Kate muttered at last.

"Thank you." Then Sabine addressed the rest of her family. "I want you all to barricade yourselves in an upstairs room – Kate, you and Bryce may snipe from a window if you simply cannot control yourselves."

She turned to the Winchesters.

"And we are going to hunt down and kill everything evil in these woods."

(A/N- Sorry, loves… left you hanging again. Oh, and… actually, a werewolf bite may not be entirely out of the question… But you'll have to see.)