AN: This chapter is a bit long, but I figured y'all would forgive me.

It sure is fun weaving together all the pieces that readers gave me!

Janice did her typical fast and fabulous beta work and I am grateful!

* * *

Sam used the moment Dean was climbing out of the car to gingerly rub the spot on his head that was throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Touching it was a mistake, and Sam had to swallow down nausea as he climbed out of the car. They were well and truly off the beaten path, away from town in the opposite direction as the castle in a sparsely wooded area with old growth trees and a carpet of ferns. Dean had taken yet another narrow turnoff that wasn't enough to be called a road, but this time, he didn't complain. He was focused on the mission.

Dean shot Sam a look that said he'd noticed the pause before Sam got out but didn't say anything, already opening the trunk. Focused on the hunt yet still keeping an eye on Sam...classic Dean.

Instantly, the guy in the trunk began to thrash and yell into the gag but Dean just grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him out, laying him on the ground ten feet or so from the car. (Can't risk him scratching her paintjob, of course.) He left the trunk open. He pulled the gag out of the guy's mouth, and Sam leaned over (very carefully) and took his wallet.

"Who are you guys? What the hell? You can't whack me! My boys'll –" the wannabe yelled.

"Jason Bao," Sam read off the driver's license. "644 Pearl Street Southwest, Apartment 6, Seattle."

"Jason? That's not very gangsta, is it?" Dean asked, catching the wallet Sam tossed to him and casually removing all the money there, which was probably a couple hundred dollars' worth. "You need a street name. How about Voorhees? Nah, you don't deserve that name. Landshark? Short Round?"

Sam chuckled. He was well aware that Dean was making sure their prisoner knew that they weren't afraid of him at all. "You're a long ways from home." He propped his rear against the side of the Impala, grateful to let Dean lead.

"Did you and your 'boys' drive all this way just to deliver a candygram to us?" Dean asked. When Jason attempted to sit up, Dean nudged his shoulder back down with a foot. "Whose idea was that?"

"We was just checkin' out the pizza joint," Jason lied baldly. "The big guy came at us. We was just defendin' ourselves. "

Dean casually pulled his skinning knife. It wasn't one he used much since it wasn't as strong as a Bowie knife or dagger, but it was impressive (read: scary) to look at with a 9-inch blade with a wicked hook on the back of the blade tip. Dean flipped it in the air and caught it again, a trick he'd perfected before he hit his teens. Again, pure showmanship, but Jason wouldn't know that. His eyes followed the movement. "Sure you were," Dean said agreeably, flipping the knife again. "Who doesn't like a good slice?"

He knelt and, in one deft movement, cut open Jason's sleeve from wrist to just above his elbow. It was an effective display of Dean's comfort with the weapon. "I enjoy a good slice or five myself." He slowly dragged the knife tip down the tender skin of Jason's inner arm. He didn't actually break the skin, but it probably felt like he had. "Mmmmm. Yummy." The knife was silver at its very tip, so the action was as practical as it was designed to intimidate. Surreptitiously, Dean sprinkled a little salt out of his pocket onto the exposed skin but didn't get a reaction from that either.

"Dude, he's crazy!" Jason yelled, appealing to Sam. "Tell him it was nothing – just a coupla punches, man! We can just forget the whole thing! We'll never bother you again, I swear!"

Sam just lifted an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Really? That gun wasn't real? You didn't draw me away from the lighted area on purpose?" He assumed the poor illumination hid the fact that he was leaning against the car for support more than anything and that he was having to work to keep his stomach from rebelling against the throbbing in his head. "Who sent you after us and why?" Sam fished out his flask of holy water and tossed it to Dean.

"Nobody sent –"

Dean started laughing, a harsh laugh he'd learned emulating psychopaths in horror movies. It was chilling, or would have been if it hadn't sounded so fake to Sam. "Let me get this straight," He flipped the knife yet again when Jason's eyes darted back to him. "You are looking to him for mercy?" He laughed harder. It was a technique they'd used plenty of times before to get information without actually doing any torture. One of them would act psychotic then claim that the other was the really sadistic one. Typically, their mark would be so afraid of the unknown quantity of the Winchester brother who was quietly looking intimidating that they'd spill. "Oh yeah, that's rich! You know his plan was to break your ankles, give you like a hundred cuts, and leave you out here for the animals? You have any idea how long it takes to die from foxes and badgers chewing on you?" He snorted. "Hey, you like acid?"

With no other warning, Dean poured some of the holy water on the same arm he'd pretended to cut. Jason cried out and tried to twist away, blinking in confusion when the liquid did nothing.

"Ah, that one was just water," Dean nodded as if just remembering that fact. "Lucky you. So, uh, you want him to take over this little talk or you wanna just tell me who put you on us?"

"V! It was V!" Jason yelped. Sam hid a smile. Other than tying him up and giving him a ride in the trunk, they hadn't actually done anything to the kid and here he was spilling his guts.

"Who the hell is this 'V' guy?" Dean asked. He sent a glance over his shoulder at Sam silently asking if he had any ideas. Sam shook his head fractionally. He had no idea.

"He's, uh, up in Seattle. He disposes of, uh, bodies for a fee. Like, you need someone to disappear, he's your guy. The cops never find a thing. And sometimes he has gang – people – do favors for him. He called and said he needed the two guys who were asking questions around the castle."

"Needed. Alive?" Sam asked.

Jason squirmed and Dean absently leaned a knee into his ribs, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to be an uncomfortable reminder of how much he was at the Winchesters' mercy. "One of you. He said at least one of you had to be alive and to just, uh, bring any bodies to him too."

Who wanted bodies? A necromancer? As far as Sam knew, zombies never killed animals and they tended to rend rather than maul. They weren't fast or subtle, either. It was unlikely that they could grab a grown man on castle grounds without someone seeing something, much less get away undetected afterwards. This case made less sense the more they learned.

"Why?" Dean asked. "And what does 'V' stand for? Victory? Vain? Vomit? You have to know if you've worked with him for a while. Unless you're just a grunt and not an actual gang member yet."

"I dunno why. Really!" The last word was squealed and Sam had a suspicion that Dean had leaned more of his weight onto Jason. "But I think I heard someone call him 'Van' or somethin' like that before. I'm a member, but he don't let many know where he actually lives. It's...south of Seattle. That's all I know."

"How did you find us so fast?" Dean asked. He was using the knife to clean under his fingernails and Sam again had to admire his showmanship. They weren't using their names in front of this chump since it didn't seem like he actually knew them, but even without the intimidation factor that "Winchester" often had, Dean had Jason terrified.

"We were hanging around town and some chick called Len and told him you were at the pizza joint and what you looked like."

"The waitress who left suddenly," Sam realized. If they could find her, they might be able to get some more information. He had an idea.

Jason shrugged the best he could lying as he was. "I don't know. I swear I don't know any more about nothing. I just came along because my old lady's pissed at me and I wanted a break from all the nagging."

Dean looked at Sam again and even in the dark Sam knew Dean figured they wouldn't get anything more out of their cowardly prisoner. They let the moment stretch until Jason was squirming again.

"I believe you," Dean said finally, sitting back on his heels. "That's why we aren't gonna ventilate you. In fact, we probably won't even stab you. I think we'll just take your phone and your wallet and your ugly shoes and leave you here. It's kinda a long walk, but you'll make it." He put word to action by cutting the binding on Jason's ankles so he could pull Jason's shoes off. He flung them into the trunk.

"Wait! You can't do that!" Jason whined. "It's dangerous out here! And I need to call for a ride!"

"You sure you want to call your guys anyway?" Dean asked. "They might figure you talked to us and take you to your buddy V so you just disappear like the other poor saps he took care of."

The thought had clearly never occurred to the less-than-bright Jason, given the way he paled and his mouth fell open. He suddenly realized that Sam and Dean were moving toward their respective car doors. "Wait, seriously, guys! You can't leave me tied up!"

Dean, being Dean, just smiled and waved. "Buh-bye now!"

Jason was still yelling after them as Dean reversed and headed back for the road. "Moron," Dean muttered. "Hey, how's the head?"

"I think we should get the police involved after all," Sam said because there was no point in lying about how lousy he felt.

"Wait, what?" Cops were not Dean's favorite thing. "How hard did they hit you?"

"No, think about it." Sam closed his eyes, which helped the nausea a little. "It's a nice little town, not somewhere you normally find gang activity. Somebody's gonna find some fallout of what happened and the police will get involved. Let's get ahead of it, tell 'em we're feds, maybe claim somebody in high places is convinced that there's a serial killer disguising their kills as animal kills. And we're undercover to look into it. Us being feds would explain gang members coming after us, and they should be happy to tell us what they know if we tell them they can get all the glory for arresting the gang guys. They should be able to track down that waitress for us, too."

Dean grumbled a little, then said, "We can pull off feds a lot easier than wedding planners. We could give Charlene the heads up in the morning then go to the cop shop." He hummed. "Might be nice if we tell Penny too. I like that guy."

Sam managed a small smile. He needed some sleep, like now, but he was pretty happy with the new plan. "Of course you like him. He makes pizza and he saved our asses."

"Damn straight. You know, you could meet with the cops in the morning while I keep lookin' around the castle grounds, though we might break Bernard's heart if his hero isn't there. I bet Cindy or one of the others would let me inside for a while."

Sam's smile came back and he was probably lucky that Dean couldn't see just how fond it was. Dean truly detested acting like a wedding planner but was willing to go at it alone to give Sam a quieter morning while he was dealing with a sore head. He ignored the jibe about the flamboyant Bernard. "Nah, the cops shouldn't actually take all that long and I won't have a ride after. Let's just stick together."

They rode in silence for a while, then Dean said, "How old do you think that kid Jason is?"

"Huh?" Sam blinked himself awake. "If his license is real, he's 19. Why?"

Dean sucked air through his teeth in thought, a habit he'd picked up from Bobby at some point. "Nineteen. I know he's a coward, but I bet he's already got a body count. I took a nine mil off him and he didn't even blink when he talked about having a body disposal guy. He was probably runnin' with the gang before he got out of middle school."

Sam stayed silent. It wasn't often that Dean got introspective and when he did, he always shut down if he had too much input.

"Couple times guys tried to recruit me. Would have been hard to keep out of their way if we stayed in one place longer."

Sam wasn't surprised. Gangs looked for kids of a lower economic standing and without much apparent support structure. And Dean would've been an attractive prospect: confident, a good fighter, a known rebel. "Me too, though not a lot," he admitted. He wasn't surprised when Dean's eyes cut sharply his way. He'd never told Dean about the recruiting, mostly because it never became an issue. And because it always happened when Dean was off hunting with Dad and even back then, Sam had known that he'd feel guilty about it happening when he wasn't there. Sam quickly continued because he knew there was no statute of limitations on Dean Winchester guilt. "I always said no because I knew if I ever joined you'd kill me, then Dad would resurrect me and kill me again."

Dean snorted. "I'm surprised they even wanted a beanpole geekboy like you were back then. Maybe they were recruiting an accountant for the drug industry."

"Man, a gang would've hated you," Sam responded. He bit back a yawn. "Too independent, too damn brave, and this huge conscience."

"Guess we'll just have to be our own gang," Dean sighed, mock-sad, going along with the lighter tone.

"I'm voting for Barb for the boss."

Dean laughed at that. "I can live with that. Cas can be our muscle. He won't intimidate anybody, but he can bring the heat when he needs to. But I guarantee Crowley would skim off the top and probably make a play for top dog."

"Crowley's in the gang? Then I'm out."

"Quitter." Dean turned onto the path that led back to the old buildings where they were staying. "And here we could've started a new family business."

Sam had appreciated the distraction during the drive. The head-trauma induced nausea was so much better once they stopped, something he was sure Dean was aware of.

They checked the perimeter of their sleeping area pretty quickly, then Dean propped their strongest flashlight on an old-fashioned classroom desk. Sam sighed, knowing triage was coming and it was going to suck.

It was and it did. Luckily, Dean didn't actually touch the larger of the two bumps on Sam's head again, but even him moving Sam's hair out of the way to take a good look made the spot throb. "Damn, Rambo," Dean whistled. "If I'd known it looked like this, I'd have hauled your ass to the hospital.

"What for?" Sam asked wearily. "So they could tell me to take pain meds and get plenty of rest and not be alone for the next 24 hours?"

"If this were anywhere else, I'd put in a stitch or two. Or if you didn't have so much freaking hair, I'd glue it shut."

"It's fine, Dean." It was, too. It would've been nice to have some ice to put on it and a soft bed to lie down on, but it would heal just fine without either one. "Leave it alone."

Dean waved at Sam's chest. "Off," he insisted. "You're favoring your side." Sam starting pulling off his shirts, not surprised that Dean had noticed that his shoulder was aching. It had, like his head, met up with a 2 by 4. "You feelin' sick?"

Yes. "No."

"Seein' two of me?"

"No, thank God."

"Shit, that's gotta hurt." Dean had gotten his first look at Sam's shoulder and back.

"Ya think? I need to see your leg where you got hit." Sam deflected before Dean could get too worked up. "You're limping."

Dean ghosted a finger over the worst of the bruises checking for anything more than just impressive bruising. Sam knew there wasn't anything to find. "Which one of them did this?"

"The one whose shoulder you dislocated. I think you mighta gotten his elbow out too." Sam answered easily. "If you wanna shoot him, I'm pretty sure you'll find him in the closest hospital."

That seemed to appease Dean slightly. "Oh, the one who looked like a walrus. I did like it when you threw the one with the stupid red hat. He and the guys he landed on probably aren't real happy with life right now either."

Sam shrugged with his good shoulder. He'd been kind of angry and had launched one of the jackasses at two more of them. "Had to take out as many as I could as fast as I could before –"

"You got shanked or shot?" Dean asked through gritted teeth.

"No, before you showed up and took them all out and didn't leave any for me."

Dean looked at Sam, his expression saying he knew what Sam was doing, but he relaxed nonetheless. He shucked his pants and turned around so Sam could see his own bruising, purple-black all the way down the back of one thigh. It might have been weird if they didn't have to check each other for injuries so often.

"That looks like it sucks," Sam sighed. If he'd handled things better and not been a moron to follow the specious call for help or taken those guys out faster, Dean wouldn't have gotten hurt.

"Yeah, whatever. The show over or do you want me to keep my pants off?"

"Oh, shut it, jerk."

"You shut it, bitch."

Dean pulled his jeans up again and they shared a commiserating smile. They were a little worse for the wear, but they'd come out on top.

Soon they were bedded down for the night on top of all the sleeping bags they had. (Hey, floors got harder as they got older.) Sam laid still and remembered the other time they'd slept in a schoolhouse.

The second story of the house in a somewhat upscale suburban-esque neighborhood was quite a bit nicer than where they were used to staying. It had an outside staircase and a good amount of space between it and the neighbors, which were probably the real amenities in Dad's mind. As for fourteen-year-old Dean, he didn't care about the nice-ish furniture and carpet. Mostly he didn't like having their nosy landlord directly below them. The man, a 40-something who'd never married, had the dressing habits and mannerisms of someone twenty years his senior. His hobbies included asking questions and getting into everyone's business. And the Winchesters were the most interesting things currently in his sights.

Luckily, Ernie Tanner of the button-down sweaters and constant hunch was extremely intimidated by John Winchester. Un luckily, Dad wasn't around just then.

He'd gone off to meet some shady contact who had some information he wanted and on his way back had been unable to resist following up on a potential hunt.

Then Bobby had called the boys. "Listen, boys, your daddy's gonna be fine, but he's stuck for a bit. Got nabbed by a wechuge. It'll keep him trapped and feedin' him as much as he'll eat until the full moon. Then it'll bring him out for dinner, and I'll be ready to toast that sucker. But there's no way to get him out until then. You two head to Jim's, you got me?"

Of course, Dean had decided that they'd stay right where they were. He claimed that it was because the rent was paid in advance, but Sam had a strong suspicion that it had more to do with his irritation at having been left behind.

Sam dedicated himself to learning about wechuges, mildly mollified to read that Bobby was right – they kept their victims safe and well-fed right up until they were ready to eat. Dean dedicated himself to sleeping as much as he could and pestering any girls close to his age.

One day, Dean was sleeping on the floor (where it was the coolest) while Sam read on the pile of pillows and blankets he'd made in front of the solitary west window trying to catch the breeze. The crunch of gravel announced the arrival of a vehicle and Sam half listened as their landlord shot the breeze with some guy named Carl.

Then Carl said, "So, Ernie, you called about some kids that were abandoned?"

Sam head shot up and he kicked Dean's foot, making sure he stayed out of the window line. Dean's eyes shot open, but luckily he saw Sam holding a finger to his lips before he could say anything. Sam tilted his head toward the window, his eyes wide. He mouthed the word "cops."

"...long since their dad's been around?"

"Well, I'm not positive, Carl, because he's pretty unfriendly, but I haven't seen that car since at least Tuesday and the boys won't let me in."

"If nothing else, that gives me reason to do a wellness check," Carl answered. "They up there now?" Ernie admitted that he wasn't sure, then footsteps were coming up the outside steps. The curtains were drawn everywhere except the open window, but even though Sam and Dean couldn't be seen from the outside, they couldn't afford to make any noise. With nothing but gestures, Dean directed Sam to silently crawl over to him then into the single closet where nobody could see them unless they came all the way inside and opened the door.

Somebody knocked loudly and Carl called out for them for a while, using their names when Ernie supplied them. Finally, he gave up and rattled the door. "I tried my key here and inside," Ernie admitted. "But they've blocked the way somehow. If I give you permission, can you break in?"

Carl hmmm'd. "I better get a judge's order since they paid to live here. Judge Sawyer's kid plays ball with mine – he'll help us out. Could take an hour or two though. You mind keepin' an eye out for 'em until I'm back?"

"Sure!" Ernie was eager, clearly excited to see something happen. "I'll sit on the porch so they can't get to the steps without me seeing. Should I give you a call if I see them coming or going?"

"Yeah, that's good, Ernie."

Sam missed the rest of the conversation, nearly hyperventilating. Dean looked older than his fourteen years, but they were enrolled in the local school, so they had his real age on file. He'd never be allowed to have Sam in his care without some adult in charge of them both. Dean didn't speak but he ran a hand up and down Sam's back in a calming motion.

When they were absolutely certain that Cop Carl was gone, Dean leaned forward to whisper. "I've got a plan," he said. "We're going to move out everything before the cops come back so it looks like we all moved out. Then we'll hunker down out of sight until we can get out of town. The cops'll just drop it and bonus – Ernie'll look like a moron."

"How?" Sam whispered. "He's watching the stairs. And you know he'll hear us moving around."

"He won't hear us if we're careful," Dean insisted. "That screened porch sticks out from the house so we're not even above him. And we'll just have to go through the front, out through his house." He nodded to the door leading to the unused inner stairway leading down to the main floor of the house. He smirked at the thought of fooling the guy he called "Evil Mister Rogers" so thoroughly.

"But –"

"We can do this, Sammy."

They did, too, even leaving the provided bed linens folded neatly at the foot of the queen bed they'd been sharing. The coup d' grace was a note Dean wrote out and signed 'J. Winchester.' It apologized and stated that they'd had to leave quickly due to a family emergency and since money was so tight, if Ernie wouldn't mind returning some of what they'd paid in advance to the following address in care of Robert Singer. He doubted that would ever happen, but it was worth a shot.

But it was Sam who figured out a place that they could stay since they couldn't be spotted sneaking out of town but there weren't exactly a lot of abandoned buildings nearby. The school was closed for the summer and sat a good half a mile back from the road. They would hear any cars coming far long before they would be seen, and it wasn't a huge walk to get there from Ernie's place – and all through the woods.

It turned out to be a great place to squat. There was running water, electricity, a microwave in the teacher's lounge, and two pretty decent couches in there, too. Sam was thrilled to have the entire library all to himself, and Dean found a TV in the AV room that was able to pick up the local channels with the rabbit ear antenna. There was even a VCR and a few tapes that were actually kind of interesting that they watched in the evenings. Sam and Dean stayed for about a week, finally leaving once they'd burned through all their stores of food. They "borrowed" a car a few towns over and made their way to Pastor Jim's just the day before Bobby showed up with Dad, who was safe and sound and really pissed that he hadn't been able to escape the wechuge on his own.

Years later for a writing assignment, Sam would base a character on Ernie and grandiosely describe him as "a guy who thought he was Romeo missing his Juliet but was really just a nosy Polonius." And yes, he'd gotten an 'A.'

Something about that memory was tickling Sam's brain. There was some relevance to their current situation, but he was too close to sleep to recapture it. Instead, he drifted into a dream in which he and Dean were riding a raft down a river a la Huckleberry Finn and shooting at hapless wechuges along the shore.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Vaughn was just cleaning up after feeding time, always a messy occasion, when his phone rang again. Irritated, he wiped the water and any blood that was left on his pants and pulled out his phone. It was Len and his eyes narrowed. "More bad news?" he said in lieu of a greeting. "Or did you make up for it and earn your money back?"

"Er, well, we didn't get them yet. Actually, they grabbed Jay and drove away with him! Who are these guys, man?"

Vaughn growled and his pets behind him echoed the sound. "I told you they're professional hunters," though not the type you think "and that they would be on guard all the time. I thought you were supposed to be badass gangsters. How is it you couldn't handle two guys?" He took a breath to cool his temper. "Tell me what you know about them, then find them! I want them here and at least one of them alive. And I'll give you another 10 grand if you bring me their vehicle and empty everything they have out of wherever they're staying. They'll have some weird shit, but I'll take it all." Hunters often had interesting, useful items with them, and Vaughn was nothing if not opportunistic. Others of his kind might look down on his scavenging, scrounging, and hiding, but it had served him very well so far.

"We'll get 'em," Len answered, sounding a little more confident this time. "And yeah, we'll take at least one of 'em alive. Be easy to track that big black car, anyway. Hey, can I keep the car?"

Vaughn dropped the hose he'd picked up to wash down the feeding area from suddenly nerveless fingers. "Big black car? It wasn't an old Impala, was it?" he asked almost squeaking. It couldn't be. There were finally hunters on his ass, but he couldn't be unlucky enough to draw the attention of the actual Winchesters, could he? "You hear any names?"

"Could be an Impala. Really old but in great shape. 1960's I bet. And one guy called the other...Sam, I think."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Sam and Dean Freaking Winchester. No wonder the stupid punks hadn't been able to handle them. What to do? Vaughn was quite a coward, preferring to pay the local gangs to do much of his dirty work in exchange for disposing of bodies for them (which actually helped him too, because it fed his babies), but if he ran, he'd lose years and years worth of work. And if they had that stupid punk Jason, they might find out his contact information anyway and eventually track him down. They weren't exactly known for giving up easily. And they sure as hell weren't known for losing. Vaughn's instinct was to pee his pants and curl up in a ball...then run someplace safe like, maybe Saturn.

Len cleared his throat, clearly waiting for Vaughn to make a decision. Vaughn glanced at his pets' bloodstained teeth and decided that it was time to man up for the first time nearly a decade.

"Okay, don't go after them again unless you can get a shot off from far away. Find some hole to hide in and text me the info of where you'll be, then destroy all your phones. I'll come to you." Sort of. My pets will come, anyway.

"But –"

"Don't argue with me. This is more than you can handle. Keep the money I paid you already and I'll see you soon." Vaughn hung up. It was a shame his babies had just eaten.

* * *

AN: Jason Voorhees is the hockey mask wearing antagonist of the Friday the Thirteenth movies. Landshark is an old character from Saturday Night Live. (If you don't know it, look it up. It's so stupid it's funny. The shark tries to get people to open the door, most famously by claiming to be a candygram. (And UNICEF and Avon, according to Janice.)

My understanding of the topography of Yakima and Congdon's Castle and the surrounding area is equal parts half-ass research and guesswork. Specific places (ie the pizzeria) are purely fiction as sadly, I've never been closer to Washington than San Francisco.

A wechuge is similar to a wendigo. It's created when someone breaks the natural order of thing trying to become too strong. The thing about keeping victims until the full moon I just made up.

I'm not telling you who Romeo and Juliet are, since I think pretty much everyone knows. Polonius is another Shakespeare character, this time from Hamlet. He's an old meddler.

Timelady66: I'm afraid I made up a lot of stuff about Yakima. I depicted the castle as closely as I could from what's online, but beyond that it's sheer fiction. Too bad...Penny's Pizzeria sounds like a good place to eat! I imagine that Barb will continue to insert herself in this story. I have no power against her when she wants to show up!

waitingforAslan: I love giving the guys more code words and phrases. It feels like there should be more given a lifetime of hunting together, you know? I bet I "corrected" Elizebeth's name in my author's notes three times before finally remembering that it was a different spelling than the traditional, which is a common name in my family. Then Janice asked me too, because she's so thorough that she even betas the author's notes when they are written by the time she gets a draft of the chapter. I'm glad you liked Penny! I have no idea where he came from; he really wasn't planned at all, but I like him too.

Jenjoremy: It's so great that you like Penny! He just sort of...happened. I picked the name of the pizzeria, then decided that it would be funny if "Penny" were a big dude. Then he decided that he had to help the guys – I didn't ask him to. I have a feeling he'll show up again (but no promises; I don't have the details of the rest of the story worked out yet, just the basics). My OC's can be very headstrong. You have to know that teachers are unsung heroes too, right? But I'm glad you said that. My sister worked as a custodian at a school for a while as a second job and she worked her butt off! Glad you like the code. They need another code for later in this story to convey what they are up against. Wanna choose the word? I'll make it work!

stedan: It was fun that Barb could help them like she did! You're right – she's a smart one. I think Penny might make another appearance in this story, even if it's pretty brief. This chapter does give you some information about who jumped the guys, though I'm sure it doesn't clear everything up. (Even the person who chose the ultimate baddie for this one is probably confused since I added to what they gave me.) I did really enjoy writing the interrogation. More intimidation than anything else because it seems like Jason might be just a human. I slightly channeled the interrogation of the angel Ezra when Sam, Dean, and Cas were looking for the entrance to Heaven.

muffinroo: That would be fun! I will definitely think about it. I have a few OC's I'm attached to beyond the obvious (Barb and her sisters, Timothy) like the little family from "A Christmas Tale" and Sheriff Paul Edwards and researcher Miss Elizabeth from "Something About Them," and Kay and Letty from "Ibeji." What can I say? I get very attached to these guys!

Christine: Thank you! The attack has something to do with their case, but it's not a straight line. They're putting the pieces together though. And you know Barb – she shows up whenever she darn well pleases. LOL

scootersmom: Thank you! You're so encouraging.

Shazza: Thanks! Barb did a good job. I didn't choose where they're staying, but it gave me a great opportunity for a trip down teenchesters memory lane!

Kathy: Hopefully things are getting interesting! I do love putting in twists and turns all over the place. I bet nobody has figured out exactly who/what the guys are up against – but that's not any fault to you brilliant readers. I just haven't given you enough information yet.

Colby's girl: thanks! No worries. Spring is busy and this story is taking me a long time to write.