AN: If anyone is wondering why my writing rate has slowed yet again even though there is no college basketball on my TV to distract me, it is because all of the plant seedlings I've been growing and babying are ready to go into the ground...and there are a lot of them, plus seeds to direct sow. And of course, all the flower beds need attention. And the first of my rhubarb is already ripe. Basically, I'm busy playing in the dirt. I apologize for the slower pace of writing.
Janice helped with her beta-fu. She gets all the virtual pie!
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Despite spending most of the day looking for clues, Sam and Dean didn't have much to go on when they reluctantly left the castle grounds just after 9:00, when they put down the proverbial portcullis. They'd eaten well and met some more of the staff, from longstanding employees of the castle owners to temporary local workers to those brought in by the rich douche to prepare for the wedding.
Locals were nervous, even superstitious. Those brought in, minus Charlene, of course, tended to just assume there was some kind of animal that would be tracked down soon. And security, well they were pissed. They definitely felt like they'd failed and were angry and defensive that something had snuck past them. And they hated the fact that very little was being done to tighten things up – so many people were still allowed to come and go all day long that the gates were rarely closed, and the extensive grounds were nearly impossible to monitor with any kind of precision.
Actually, it was gardener and dog-mom Cindy who told them about a lot of the new measures that the security team had taken while Chloe snoozed innocently at her feet as if she'd never been naughty in her life. Dean was sure that nobody in security would be pleased if they knew that the woman had shared so much about the details of their efforts, but he appreciated it since they might well need to dodge those measures.
"My husband knows about a lot of this," Cindy had explained over pulled pork sandwiches and cole slaw. "We live on the grounds, but he leaves really early for his job, before they want to let the gates open. See, he's a music teacher and the school is quite a long drive away."
She'd told them a lot of useless things, too, but she was so helpful with her details (like the fact that all of the cameras were motion-activated or the existence of pressure sensors at 10-foot intervals on the top of the border wall) that it was totally worth it. She even told them that it took two different guards to authorize opening the gate between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am.
Much less helpful but a hell of a lot funnier was Bernard, who seemed to be fangirling over Sam. The surlier and more taciturn Sam acted, the harder the little designer tried to impress him. He was so persistent in trailing Sam like a puppy that they resorted to going into Charlene's office then sneaking out the back door. (Dean teased Sam about it until he punched Dean hard enough to make his arm go half numb for a good ten minutes. Winchesters did not pull punches when they were well and truly annoyed. Dean still thought it was worth it.)
The most interesting thing they found outside of the grove where the attack had taken place was...nothing. The EMF reader had a lot of reaction, but all of it was low to moderate. There were no signs of hex bags, no stories about hauntings, no unexplainable tracks or things that set off the cameras but moved too quickly to be photographed, nothing. That in itself was notable. Annoying, but notable.
Even though they separated for a lot of the afternoon, they hadn't covered half of the grounds and hadn't so much as set foot inside the castle yet, so maybe nothing really was just nothing yet, but Dean's instincts told him that this case wasn't something as simple as a pissy ghost they had to send on with a salt and burn or a stupid, hungry vamp in need of beheading.
"We won't be far. Call us if anything weird comes up," Sam reassured Charlene as the clock ticked down to gate-closing time, his real personality bleeding through the emo-ass guy he'd been playing all day. "We can get onto the grounds here without anybody knowing if necessary."
Probably, Dean thought but didn't vocalize. Between Cindy's revelations and his own observations, he knew that security had done a pretty thorough job of setting up surveillance. Thorough enough that it might even be a challenge for them. He wondered where Sam intended for them to stay to be "not far away." As far as he knew, there wasn't much but woods and meadows anywhere close by, and Dean was not in the mood for any camping. He posited the question when Sam instructed him to turn right out of the gate while pulling out his dreadful ponytail.
"The family land actually goes a long ways past what's fenced in," Sam explained. "There are some old buildings less than a mile from the wall. Some are supposed to be ruins, but a couple are said to still be standing. As long as we get the car out of sight, we should be good to stay in one of them.
"I don't like the word ruins," Dean complained. "I like running water, electricity, cable, a coffee maker. You know, the basics of living."
"We have the Coleman," Sam responded predictably. "We can handle it. Charlene needs us close. She said we can get there early and grab a shower before most people show up. Turn right just up there." Before Dean could do more than stare in horror at the pathetic 2-track that was not worthy of the title 'road,' Sam delivered his piêce de résistance. "I took a bag of their coffee that you liked so much and we have the percolator along. We can make it on the stove."
Dean muttered darkly as he maneuvered his beloved Baby down the path that was barely wide enough to keep from scraping tree branches on either side. The grass growing between the tracks he followed swished against her undercarriage. It was starting to grow in the tracks as well, making it clear that nobody had driven that way in quite some time. His mood grew darker as they drove past a bare chimney made of mortared stones, whatever building it had been part of lost to the ravages of time, then a small barn with a completely concave roof, then what looked like a tiny cemetery.
"I'm not exactly seeing any buildings, Sam," he stated accusingly.
"Be patient," Sam answered easily. "Lunch lady Linda said there were probably fifteen or twenty buildings out here when she was a kid. There's a good chance at least one is still intact." They had both bonded with the sweet older lady who worked for the castle owners and was in charge of the food for Charlene and her staff, following Dean's long-standing policy 'never mess with the lunch ladies.' Even in high school, he'd obeyed that maxim religiously. It was one thing to screw with teachers and administrators, but the people who could get him chow he always treated like queens. And even back then, both brothers could score an extra helping of dessert -- Dean with his cocky, flirty grin-and-wink routine and Sam by looking up shyly through his bangs and flashing his dimples.
A hairpin turn revealed the truth of Linda's words. A cluster of small, old-fashioned buildings were in a rough semicircle around the foundation and rubble pile of what had been a larger building. Dean drove right up to the structures and gave each a cursory once-over. "That one looks the best, I guess," he decided reluctantly, pointing to one with a small, empty bell tower. "At least the windows are still there." It would be full of spiders and bugs and probably mice too. They could only hope nothing bigger had made a home inside. During a camping trip with Dad, Dean had once woken to find there was a skunk sharing their fire and it had been a very stressful couple of hours until it meandered off.
Sam agreed and made to get out but Dean stopped him. "We're checking it out, and as soon as we know it's safe, we're heading to town. I may have to sleep in some old schoolhouse, but that doesn't mean I have to eat nothing but canned beans and peaches. And you know you aren't allowed anywhere near the beans."
Sam only nodded, likely no more excited about their prospective roach motel than Dean was. They took their shotguns and scoped it all out. The inside was pretty well-preserved, all things considered. The floor was dry and not rotted, and the leaves and other detritus was pretty minimal with no animal corpses, which was always a plus. The cobwebs had cobwebs, but they'd certainly slept in worse places. So they left behind what they could, suspended from one of the exposed crossbeams and out of reach of 99% of forest creatures, put some basic protections in place, threw on flannel shirts, and headed out.
Once they were in town, Dean chose "Penny's Pizzeria" for their repast. The eponymous Penny turned out to be Isaac Pendo, whose physique made it clear that he enjoyed eating pizza at least as much as making it. Though Penny was working much faster than Dean would have guessed he could go, it was a good ten minutes before a waitress came to their table.
"I'm sorry for the wait," she said, slightly breathless. "The other girl literally walked out a couple minutes ago saying she was sick, so it's just me an' Penny now."
Dean was hungry, but she came with placatory breadsticks which made everything a whole lot better. And though the pizza did take a while, the hustling waitress managed to keep them supplied with beer and more breadsticks the whole time. They started a lighthearted conversation with another table about the Seahawks which Penny contributed to whenever he could, since they were so close to the open kitchen. And when the pizza finally arrived, it was well worth the wait. Penny was not afraid to load up the toppings, it seemed.
Despite everything, it ended up being a surprisingly nice meal. Dean couldn't find it in himself to be upset over how long it all had taken nor the fact that it was far too small and crowded for them to discuss the case safely. And by the end of their meal, there were hardly any other customers left. Actually, if there had been a pool table and a couple dummies with more money than skill, it would have been damn near perfect.
Oh, yeah. And if they didn't have to go sleep in an abandoned schoolhouse from the previous century. Dean gave a mental shrug. You couldn't expect everything to be perfect.
"I'm gonna step outside and call Barb while we're still in town," Sam said as Dean picked up his fifth (sixth?) piece.
"Yeah, I got this," Dean answered through a mouthful of awesomeness. Since Sam wasn't there to give him shit for it, he also ate the last piece. (Why keep one piece, anyway? It wasn't like they had a fridge.) When he was finished, he sighed and wiped his hands, then made sure to leave the waitress a great tip. She'd done a good job in a tough situation and never completely lost her smile. Dean was convinced that waitressing was every bit as hard as hunting, if in a different way.
The waitress wasn't the only one who'd worked hard to get them fed. When Dean went to the counter to pay, he left a ten for Penny, too, since you always reward the lunch lady, even if she's not a she but is a 300-pound dude with a shaved head. Especially when he was already planning on coming back. He was exchanging pleasantries with the guy when his phone buzzed with a call from Barb. Dean excused himself and answered, wondering why she was calling him when she was supposed to be talking to Sam.
"Dean, I think Sam needs you," Barb said quickly and without preamble. "We were just talking when I heard someone yell for help. Sam told me to hang on, then came back and he called me Mrs. Friedman, like the famous code-breaker. Then he said, 'So could you let James know that the flight to Tijuana leaves at six, so don't be late?' You're James, of course, but I have no idea what the rest of it means. And when I asked if he wanted me to call you right away, he said, nice and casual, 'absolutely' and hung up."
"I gotta go," Dean said to both Barb and Penny, adrenaline immediately flooding his veins. He hung up, shoved his phone into his pocket, and rushed for the side door that Sam had exited. In Winchester code, 'Tijuana' meant 'get your ass over here right now' and 'leave at six' was to tell Dean how many baddies Sam was up against.
Who the hell could be after them? They didn't know what they were up against yet, but all signs pointed to something stupid and brutal, not something that could figure out who they were and set up an ambush. A cold ball of dread filled Dean's stomach when he didn't see Sam in the small, dirt-covered employee parking lot and it got colder when it occurred to him that there might still be Thule after them given their recent take down of the reincarnated Führer. Those creepy, bigoted assholes had nearly killed Sam once already.
Dean whipped his head back and forth looking for signs of anything that could indicated where Sam could be. He saw some scuff marks, maybe even...drag marks?...in the dirt. He opened his mouth to call out for his brother when he heard the impact of a fist on flesh and a grunt coming from a dark building off to his left.
Dean's gun was in his hand almost before he leaped in that direction. The grunt had not been Sam, but he also wouldn't have left sight of the restaurant of his own volition without letting Dean know. More sounds, clearly of a fist fight, followed. A body came flying out of the alley just as Dean got there, making him jump backwards to avoid being flattened. The stranger ( not Sam, that's all Dean really cared about) only groaned as he landed and didn't try to get up. Nice one, Sammy.
Then, finally, Dean could see the melee. Sort of. At least four silhouettes were grappling but the lighting wasn't nearly good enough to get a shot off, plus they were moving way too fast for him to be sure he wouldn't hit the tallest shape. And firing off a weapon here was certain to draw all kinds of attention anyway. Cursing, Dean called, "What are they?" as he pulled one man bodily off Sam and sent him flying against the wall of the opposite building.
"Human. Eight. Five left," Sam answered succinctly, only slightly out of breath despite the fact that he'd been fighting off eight guys on his own. Damn.
The space was really too narrow for that many people, and besides a weak sliver of moonlight trickling in, the only light came from an anemic store light beyond the far end of alleyway.
There wasn't much room to move, but Dean managed to get in two good, solid punches on the scowling face in front of him. He was always on board for a good old-fashioned back-alley brawl with some human dicks. "Thanks for saving me some. What are they pissed about?" The guy started to go down but someone behind Dean hit him in the kidney.
"Dunno," Sam said, the air rushing out of him suddenly, clearly taking a good hit of his own. When he spoke again, it was interspersed with pauses as the fighting got even more intense. "Tried to...drag me off. Shit. Exorcism didn't do anything."
Dean elbowed the guy behind him but got halfway tripped by someone on the ground grabbing his leg. That was okay, because a guy with the whiskers (and girth) of a walrus was just throwing a punch toward Dean's face and the half-fall moved Dean out of reach. The would-be puncher howled as his fist smashed into the wall instead. Dean kicked his leg free, kicking the dude holding it in the sternum in the process. He blocked a second punch from walrus-guy, who apparently decided that one good hand was enough to stay in the fight. Dean flinched as someone moved into his periphery, but Sam yelled his name and the newest guy disappeared with a crunch that probably meant Sam's concrete fists had broken a rib or a jaw. (There weren't a whole lot of people who could take a hit from a pissed-off Sam Winchester, and he was always pissed off when someone tried to hurt Dean. Of course, the same was true for Dean regarding Sam.)
Dean was about to tell Sam to watch his own back (while twisting walrus' arm behind him) when there was the crack of wood being broken over a body and Sam fell into him. Reflexively, Dean gave one quick wrench – enough to dislocate walrus' shoulder, and managed to catch Sam before he went all the way down.
"Sam!" he half-asked, half-demanded over walrus' screams, needing to know how badly he was hurt.. Turned the way he was, Dean could see the outline of a short, thick man raising something like a 2 by 4 to take another swing. Growling in rage, Dean twisted them around to get Sam out of the line of fire. The move sent his own shoulder into the attacker's chest, knocking him off balance so the board came down against the back of Dean's leg. All three men tumbled to the ground where they landed on yet another man (or two).
"That's it," Dean snarled, reaching for his gun. Even as he did, a shot rang out, the bullet hitting so close to his face that bits of brick from the wall cut his cheek. Dean rolled onto his back, pointing his gun in the general direction of the shooter but he couldn't see a damn thing.
There was a dull thud that Dean couldn't quite decipher, then the sound of a body hitting the ground. He kept his gun up, out of the corner of his eye seeing that Sam had his gun up and pointing the same direction, but, though he was thrilled that his brother was conscious and aware, he couldn't feel relief until they knew what was happening.
A very wide shadow fell across them, and Dean squinted trying to see who the hell was there.
"You two okay?" asked a voice that rang a bell.
"Penny?" asked Dean hesitantly.
The figure stepped a little closer and, sure enough, it was the pizzeria owner and chef with a large pan in his beefy hand. "You need an ambulance?" he asked, eyeing the downed men all around them warily. Since his arm was raised, Dean could just make out that he had a large tattoo on his forearm. The darkness hid the details, but Dean had some ideas of what it might represent.
Dean put his gun away and looked at Sam. "No, I think we're good," he answered, when Sam shook his head. "I can't say we don't appreciate the help, but why are you here? Do you know these punks?"
"I've seen 'em maybe," Penny answered. He scooped up a gun that had fallen at his feet next to the guy he'd laid out and tucked it into the ties on the waist of his apron. "They ain't local. My waitress told me there were some deadbeats hangin' around, and I had a bad feelin' when you ran out like you did." He watched as Dean stood up and pulled Sam up. Sam grabbed a handful of the back of Dean's jacket and Dean had to force himself not to obviously help him; Sam was clearly trying to keep Penny from seeing how unsteady he was.
"And…I had a feelin' you two might be vets," their rescuer added. "We gotta stick up for each other."
Dean picked his way around the attackers slowly so Sam could keep up. He didn't like how much Sam was using him for balance. At the end of the alley, he could finally make out the army tattoo that Penny sported on the arm still holding what appeared to be a long-handled pizza peel used for sliding pizzas into the oven.
"We aren't vets, but you could say we've seen plenty of action. And hey, thanks, man. We really owe you one." Dean would have offered him money but he was fairly certain that would only offend the man.
Penny shrugged. "Nah. I'm guessin' you don't want to do the cops thing, so I better get back before Ellie gets worried and does somethin' stupid like calling them. Or worse, my wife. You better make sure they didn't mess with your ride. That's a pretty sweet car. And be careful, now."
Well, if Dean hadn't liked him before, he sure did now. Once Penny was walking away, Dean turned so he could hold onto Sam. The back of his leg hurt like a mother and he was definitely the proud owner of more than a few bruises, but he didn't care about any of that. He was all too aware of the fact that Sam hadn't said a word. They began to make their way slowly back toward Baby, keeping an eye on their would-be assailants.
"How bad is it?" Dean asked quietly when they were back at the edge of the main parking lot of Penny's.
"Just got my bell rung," was Sam's answer. "Gonna have a couple bruises I guess."
Bell rung and a couple bruises, Dean's left ass cheek. He was about to make a sarcastic rejoinder when he heard a low voice. He and Sam stopped at the edge of the lighted area and listened.
"...all my boys. Then this huge guy showed up and – No, Len was going to use his gun but – No. No way. Keep your money. We ain't doin' it. 'Course I want revenge but forget it, man. Half my boys are gonna end up in the hospital already, and now they'll be watching. Screw you."
Dean smiled wolfishly. He basically leaned Sam against the wall, then gave him the signal "wait here." Sam gave him a different sort of signal, one that involves just a solitary finger, but didn't actually argue, so Dean drew his gun and crept toward the spot where a young Asian man with a visible shiner was putting his phone away.
Less than a minute later, said jackass was in Baby's trunk, ankles and wrists zip-tied and a (relatively) clean sock stuffed in his mouth. Sam hadn't stayed put but had followed and provided back-up that Dean absolutely didn't need for one cowardly thug. "If there's s-someone out there looking for revenge, it's a good thing we are staying out of town," Sam said, almost clearly, when Dean climbed into the passenger seat. He was squinting at their prisoner's phone.
Dean ignored that, not willing to play the let's-pretend-nobody-got-hurt game. He took hold of Sam's chin and turned his face so he could see his pupils. They were even but Sam's frown wasn't all annoyance – there was pain there, too. "You get hit in the head by that two-by-four?" Dean asked. "You're staring at that phone like you're seein' double."
"I'm not seeing double," Sam responded, since he was the master at side-stepping any questions he didn't feel like answering. "I don't have a concussion. Hey, we better call Barb back. She called you and got you my message, right?"
"You call her. I'm busy." He was busy looking for more injuries Sam was pretending not to have. He couldn't do a very good job when they were seated next to each other, but at least he could get some idea of what he was working with. Their interrogation had to take place somewhere other than where they were staying in case the dude was fully human and they couldn't waste him when they were done having a little chat, but the guy could damn well hang out in the trunk while Dean triaged Sam or even took him for treatment somewhere if there was anything seriously wrong.
When Sam turned to fish his phone out of his pocket, Dean got a chance to find the bump on the back of his head. He whistled – it was a definite goose egg. For his part, Sam grabbed at the door handle and swore in some language that sounded Nordic, then in what Dean was pretty certain was Swahili. (By Dean's count, there were fourteen – maybe fifteen now – languages in which Sam knew swear words and phrases, not counting English.)
Sam's knuckles were white and he suddenly looked distinctly green. Dean's instinct was to throw him out of the car to puke elsewhere, but instead he dropped a hand to Sam's shoulder. "Breathe, Sam. Breathe through it. There ya' go." After a couple long breaths, Sam regained a little of normal color. "That's right. Remember, if you ralph in my car, I'm sticking you in the trunk with the wannabe badass." He hated that he'd had to hurt Sam, but he hated even more that Sam was worse off than he'd let on. Even if he'd learned that lesson from Dean himself.
Sam's attempt to glare at Dean after that was laughable, given the way he was struggling to keep his eyes open. "I don't have a concussion," he claimed, speaking in the careful way he did when it was a struggle not to slur his words. (He did the same thing when he was drunk and trying to pretend he wasn't.) "Yes, it hurts, okay? But I know what a concussion feels like and this isn't one. I'll take some Tylenol, then we gotta make sure this guy's human and find out why they were after us."
Sam thought he could weasel his way out of admitting how much he was hurting by pointing out the importance of getting info for their hunt? Well, Dean had bigger guns than that to pull out. He scowled, but knew that no matter what else was going on, they couldn't sit here in the parking lot while the friends of the douche in the trunk got their wind back or somebody told the cops they'd heard a gunshot. "Hang on," he warned, then made a three-point turn with a sharp stop in the middle, taking vicious pleasure in the thumps that came from the trunk. He did feel a little guilty that the abrupt move made Sam wince slightly.
"We're taking this asshole for a ride out of town so we can get a little uninterrupted time and a chat." Of course, what were the chances that it was some crazy coincidence? Even more unlikely than usual, given the phone conversation they'd overheard. "That'll give us time to chat with Barb." He cued up her number and switched it to speaker without having to look.
"Dean? Are you and Sam okay?"
Dean smirked in Sam's general direction. "Good job on the code, Mata Hari. I'm fine, but Sam –"
"He's not fine," Sam interrupted, clearly figuring out Dean's ploy. He had his eyes closed and was doing the measured breathing thing again. The fact that he was in pain pissed Dean off. He'd have kind of liked to go back and shoot a few of those guys that had come after them. "He was hit in the leg and he's been limping since. Also, he –"
"Sam got hit in the head." It was Dean's turn to interrupt. "He's trying not to puke right now."
"You two better get to the hospital," Barb exclaimed, pulling out the dreaded "mom voice" that she did so well.
"It's, uh, not that bad," Dean protested through gritted teeth, irritated that his ploy had backfired. He'd just wanted to guilt Sam into admitting what he already knew. "I just want Sam to let me check him over and make sure he's good." Damn it, now he sounded like he was pouting.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" Barb asked kindly. "Then get to bed? You both sound tired and it seems like you've had a rough night."
"We were jumped, Barb," Sam said calmly. Dean was impressed with how good he managed to sound. Oh, it wouldn't have fooled Dean, nor would it have fooled the deceptively sharp Barb in person, but over the phone he probably passed muster. "Just some humans, not much more than kids. They threw some punches, but we got the best of them with a little local help. We need to figure out if they were targeting us or if it was some random robbery, but then we'll treat whatever needs treating and get some rest. Thank you for calling Dean so fast."
Despite his current irritation with Sam and the situation in general, Dean had to admit that it was a good summary, sharing enough that it wasn't insulting but leaving out things that would only stress Barb out. For example, the fact that there was a goon in the trunk.
"Dean?" Barb, clever as always, was asking if he confirmed Sam's comforting assessment.
"Yup, we're alright." Dean didn't dare say otherwise, slightly concerned that Barb and possibly some of her multitude of relatives would hop on a plane for Washington if he said otherwise. "We're ticked, mostly. It feels like these ass – uh, jerks – were trying to roll some out-of-towners, but we have to make sure. And, hey, you really came through. Stargazer lilies, right?"
"Dean Theodore Matthew Winchester," Barb snapped, mock-angrily. She liked to add more to someone's name when castigating them. She claimed it 'added oomph.' "You know what I say about cut flowers."
Smiling slightly, Dean recited, "Flowers belong in the garden or the cemetery." He knew the drill. He also knew what she would appreciate and would make sure it got to her. "I know. Listen, we gotta go, but we'll try to come visit on our way back to Kansas so you can see for yourself we're really okay."
"You better," she responded. "And if you're lying to me about being hurt, I'll give Judy your cell phone numbers."
"You wouldn't," Dean gasped in horror that was only half faked. Judy was Barb's looney older sister who had a penchant for making inappropriate comments about men she 'appreciated.' She had once actually made Bobby blush.
"I promise you I would. And by the way, I see myself as more of a Boudica than a Mata Hari," Barb concluded lightly. Dean knew her well enough to know she would still be worrying about them. "Good-bye. Look out for each other."
When Barb had hung up, it was like Dean suddenly remembered all his worries, pains, and annoyances. And he hadn't missed the fact that Sam had fallen silent again. "Wake up, Sam. No sleeping until I know for sure how screwed up your big head is. Tell me just how you ended up forty feet away from the pizzeria. Then as a reward, you can help me intimidate the brainless wonder who's probably pissing all over himself in Baby's trunk."
Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. "Ain't no party like a Winchester party."
* * *
AN: So I have this headcanon that, while Sam doesn't swear a whole lot, he's actually proficient and creative at it, and keeps a mental list of his favorite swear words from all different languages. Just go with it!
Elizebeth Smith Friedman was a brilliant cryptanalyst who deciphered many, many codes for the United States during both world wars. (And that really is the way she spelled her first name.)
Using Tijuana as a code is my invention, not actually in the show.
Mata Hari was a Dutch exotic dancer convicted of being a spy for Germany in World War I. Though some people claim she was an innocent scapegoat.
Boudica was an ancient queen of the British Inceni tribe who led her people in a great uprising against the Roman Empire. She is known for being a fighter and all-around bad-ass.
Colby's girl: So very pleased to make you smile! It's so encouraging when you say nice things about chapters I worry are too slow. Thank you!
scootersmom: Yippee! Putting this together with all of the separate prompts is making a unique story and I'm having fun with it, so it's great that you are having fun too.
sylvia37: It amuses me to put them in situations outside their comfort zone and see what happens!
Christine: Nice analogy! I was picturing Patton Oswalt acting like Jack Black in Jumanji, but both are great. Poor lovesick Bernard!
muffinroo: Thank you, my friend. You are too kind. That's all I can say. Gracias!
Jenjoremy: Yeah, I always have fun writing about the Winchesters, tbh. I just have this insecurity that readers will get bored with the chapters without lots of fighting and action, etc. Although it is where my own snarkiness really shows up!
stedan: Oh, I'm glad you like them! (Partly because I can't seem to stop writing them.) There was some action here, but also more of the boys just being brothers. I don't know if it's a superpower, but it sure is something I enjoy. Angst and action, huh? I imagine both will show up!
Kathy: I didn't choose the aliases, but I still can have fun with them! Not many clues here (I don't think) about what they're facing, but I will tell you that it's not terribly straight forward...the who or the why. What fun would that be?
Timelady66: Of course Sam can be subtle with his pranks on occasion. After all, he learned from the best! Dean can be surprisingly subtle...once in a while. LOL. Your vignettes make me laugh!