The worst part of being a Watcher was writing the reports. Once a week (more often if something big happened) a report was sent to Cleveland from every Watcher in the world, including John and Dean Winchester. John could take training, making sure that his Slayer went to school, homework, even female issues which was something he hadn't thought of since he and Mary had thought that they would be naming their second child Samantha. But writing these reports were going to give him an aneurysm.
All three of the Winchester men, well make that four little Johnny was taking a nap in his portable crib, were in the library working on their various reports; John and Dean for the Watcher's Council and Sam for school. It didn't help that Dean and Sam were doing their silent communication thing and from the looks on their faces they were laughing at him.
He just didn't do reports well. He knew it, and his boys knew it. Dean had once scoffed at him and told him that he wrote like 'friggin Yoda, man!". He didn't see what the problem with that was; the little guy had always made sense to him. But he did know enough to understand that he didn't make much sense to other people when he wrote stuff down, and that was a real problem now.
Sam looked up from the paper he was rough drafting and stifled a giggle. He wondered how in the world his dad was going to screw up a simple report that Jordan had killed three vampires this week and had run into five different types of demons, most of them harmless. It was a sure bet that he would screw it up. If John Winchester had to write more than three words, only one of them would make sense and none of them would make sense in relation with each other. Often, only he or Dean could understand what he had written down and even they had a hard time sometimes.
Sam was never sure if it was his dad's Marine training, or just his dad's brain that caused the problem. He did know that it was more likely to be his dad's notes. They were often short phrases, things that made complete sense to John but few people in the world could read them and come up with a reasonable translation. The casserole note was the memory that came to mind. He and Dean had gone over and over that note for no less than two weeks before they had broken down and asked him what he had been talking about.
It turned out that it was John's term for several ghosts who were all mixed up together having been murdered either by the same person, at the same time, or in a battlefield situation. It was things like that, that were the real reason John's reports were so confusing. It made for a fun guessing game though, especially if he and Dean got drunk first.
The look on Sam's face was all that Dean needed to see to know what his little brother was thinking; the guessing game, adult version. They had several versions of the game they had played over the years as kids, but the adult version was played with alcohol. But this time they already knew what the answers should be, which meant that it wouldn't be as much fun.
He glanced down at Johnny who was making sucking sounds in his sleep. There were also the twins to consider, which meant that getting really drunk wouldn't be as much fun. Crying babies, in stereo plus hangover did not a good time make. Crap, just one more reason to hate this growing up stuff. Of course he wouldn't trade the twins in for anything, and God help whoever tried to hurt them.
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Benjamin Blake knew that Marcus was getting uptight about the Slayers who had moved into town. He didn't like it when the demon was upset because Marcus was the one who provided him with everything he had ever dreamed of; power, wealth, any female he wanted and if Marcus got upset and left town, then his would lose everything. He had to do something.
His chance came when this Kreeekk'ick demon showed up wanting to buy a set of mystical twin babies for a sacrifice. Now, Kreeekk'ick demons were nasty, and their ceremonies were even nastier, but he knew that didn't bother Marcus. Marcus didn't care what someone wanted as long as they were willing to pay for it, or the information on how to get it.
That was when his little plan sprang to mind. He didn't like Kreeekk'icks or their blood soaked ceremonies and Marcus didn't like the Slayers, who he knew were living with a set of demon marked twin babies. If one killed the other, it was all to the good and it really didn't matter who killed who.
"You got what we want?" the snake demon demanded. It was followed by two others of its kind.
"Not for sale myself," Blake held up his hand as the Kreeekk'ick hissed at him. "I do know where you can find a set of seven month old twins, demon marked for something, I don't know what. But they meet your qualifications; one boy, one girl, under a year old and mystical in some fashion. Gregg will take the standard fee for the information."
After a bit of grumbling, the demons paid up and Blake continued. "They live at the Slayer house on the Stanford campus and they are the only babies there, so if you grab them you won't be making a mistake by grabbing the wrong kids. There are two Slayers who live at the school and one of them is really tiny. I have no information on the security, I'm afraid you'll have to learn that on your own."
"You're honest for a human at least," the demon admitted and walked off, trailing his entourage behind him.
"Good luck, you're going to need it," Blake smiled. Tonight was a good night, if one of the Slayers fell, then he should get a really good reward from Marcus for this. He had stayed strictly within the boundaries and still had sent trouble hunting for Marcus' enemies. Oh yeah, this should really be worth something, maybe even a little vampire girl all his own. He knew they could take a lot of damage.