Some THINGS Should Stay Private

When the radiator was finally flushed and cleaned and drying on the workbench, Andrew insisted that they stay as house guests with him and Ronnie. "C'mon, guys, the beds will be cleaner, the hot water will last longer and the heating works. The food's better, too. Ronnie will make pie, won't you Ronnie?"

"Pie?" asked Dean hopefully.

Ronnie waved a hand airily. "Oh, yes, you'd be amazed at how domesticated I can be. My paternal grandmother was a very traditional woman, that way. Gammer Shepherd had some Very Definite Ideas about the set of life skills a young lady should have; how to cook, how to sew, how to pack salt and iron cartridges, how to knit, how to draw a Devil's Trap, how to make her own pastry, how to throw a passable jab-cross combination, how to recite exorcisms in at least three dead languages, how to brew a counterspell in a hurry, how to bottle fruit, how to dance a waltz, how to cast her own ammunition, how to repair her own firearms, how to get stains out of delicate fabrics…"

"Your grandmother sounds like an interesting lady," remarked Sam.

"Family lore has it that she once drove a wendigo to gnaw off its own arm to get away from her tirade of abuse. When she chased after it, the poor thing set itself on fire to escape the tongue-lashing."

"Does she still Hunt?" he asked in admiration.

"No, she died when I was sixteen. A next of vampires. Took down four of them before the rest got her. The ones that fed off her all died later. From bile poisoning."

"Would you really make pie?" said Dean. Ronnie pulled a face at him.

"Oh, please, leave the kicked-puppy eyes to your brother, he's much better at it. But yes, because you've been so traumatised by your baby's health problems, I'll make pie, to help you recover."

The house was about 20 miles out of town, on a sparsely populated road. Inside, Ronnie set to doing mysterious things in the kitchen. She shoved a bowl into Dean's hands, and another into Sam's. "Outside," she said. "Apples in that one, apricots in that one. He who labours not, eats not."

Out back, the brothers headed for the small stand of fruit trees, while Jimi followed them for a joyous reunion with his sister Joni. Having ascertained that there were no potentially evil scarecrows anywhere – "Hey, you can't be too careful, little bro" – they took their time with the strangely domestic activity of picking fruit. Sam shoved an apricot into his mouth.

"Mmmmmm, these are really good. I wonder if Ronnie would give us some for the road when we go?"

"Sammy, if it's not in pie, then fruit, like vegetables, is what food eats", stated Dean, twisting another apple off a gnarled branch. He paused for a moment, then asked hesitantly, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam ate another apricot.

"Um… when you were… withMadison…"

Sam suddenly stiffened, and his expression became guarded. "Hey what brought this on?"

Dean did his best to look conciliatory. "Hey, hey, don't shoot me! It's just… well, seeing Ronnie again, with Andrew, I've been wondering… was there anything, you know, different about her?"

Sam eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean, different? Dean, she was a werewolf! I'd say that was pretty damned 'different'!"

"No, no, that's not what I mean," explained Dean hurriedly, "I mean, before you knew she was a werewolf. When you were… you know, together, was there anything…?"

Sam gave him Bitchface #5 (My Private Life Is SO None Of Your Business, Jerk.) "Look, Dean, you might like to compare notes on your conquests, but I'm just not wired that way. I'm a prude, you keep telling me, and I need to get laid more often, remember?"

Dean's face fell. "I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have pried. Hey, I can't help it, you know? I am wired that way." He gave his brother a conciliatory smirk. "You never really talked about it much. And you're the one who likes to talk about things, right?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," said Sam, somewhat mollified. He grinned to himself.

"Hey, what's that grin for?" asked Dean.

"Nothing. Private memory," said Sam, still grinning.

"You're not holding out on me, are you, bro?" pressed Dean. Sam just kept grinning.

"She was… energetic," he said, finally. "Maybe I didn't have a lot to compare her to, but she was… enthusiastic. And imaginative. I do know that I slept like a log afterwards." He slowly picked another apricot, clearly lost in a memory. "She did this… this… Thing…"

Dean's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "A… Thing? What sort of Thing?"

"A… a… Thing…" Sam waved his free hand around helplessly. "It's difficult to describe…"

"Try."

Sam's eyes cleared, and he actually shook is head. "Hey, some things should remain private, okay? Even from big brothers. Especially from big brothers. You want porn, go see if Andrew has cable."

"C'mon, Sammy, you can't just leave it at that, tell me about the, the Thing..." wheedled Dean.

"Have you filled your bowl?" asked Sam primly, turning back to the house. Swearing under his breath, Dean grabbed a couple more apples, and followed him.

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