AN: As the title of this story implies, I had help in its creation, and not just from my (great) beta Janice, but from others, too. (Polyphony is when multiple melodies are played or sung together to form something new.)

I sent a request to six different people to request that they choose one item for a story without knowing what anyone else requested. (Have you ever played the game with a trifolded piece of paper where one person draws a head, one the body, and one the legs, then you see what kind of amalgamation you get? It's kind of like that.) Anyhow, the things I requested are:

Timing

Monster

Aliases / role for our boys' undercover identities

Where are the guys staying (i.e. motel)

Location of the case

A different SPN character or OC of mine to make an appearance (in this case, both)

Let me tell you, these fabulous people came through! So, while I never own Supernatural or any of its characters, here I don't own the details, either, just Barb, my favorite OC, and the mortar – the stuff that holds all of these details together. In the epilogue, I'll reveal who chose what. By the way, Barb has appeared in quite a few of my stories, but you don't need to read any of those before this one. Just know she's an older lady who knows about the supernatural and loves our boys.

This takes place right after season 12, episode 5, The One You've Been Waiting For.

* * *

As Barb's youngest son sometimes told her, she wasn't very good at being an old lady. For example, instead of going to sleep while the sun was still up, she was an unapologetic night owl. She'd sent her husband Harry off to bed nearly an hour ago and really intended to follow soon, but then her internet roaming had brought her to a group that called themselves the "Ghostfacers."

Since then, she'd been watching their videos and shaking with silent laughter, tears rolling down her face, at their efforts to make their "investigations" seem dramatic. Her favorite was an investigation of a supposedly haunted barn where there was a lengthy and completely serious discussion about whether or not there could be such a thing as ghost manure. (The conclusion was that ghosts can inhabit nearly anything, so there could be haunted manure but ghosts probably couldn't create it unless they were actually killed by manure. And for some reason that Barb didn't follow, they decided that it was "more professional" to refer to it as scat.)

Though she knew better, Barb couldn't help but read some of the comments on the videos. Most seemed to either ridicule the content or treat it like satire, but there were a fair number of true believers. Then there was one that caught her attention.

Make light of it all you want, it read. But there are real, terrible things out there. And there are real heroes who fight them, but they do it in the shadows and not for likes or views. They do it to save people. I wish there were more like them, now more than ever. Then there was a link to a news story from 2005.

Barb clicked on it despite hearing her sons' voices in her head telling her not to fall for it.

The story took place in Ohio, where several people in one small town had died of a mysterious illness that caused their skulls to fill with blood until it overflowed out of their eyes. They called it "catastrophic hemorrhagic stroke," but had no explanation beyond that. What was most interesting to Barb, however, was that some people claimed it was a curse and that two young men had come into town and taken care of it, which is why the deaths stopped. Naturally, those people were the subject of great ridicule, but Barb knew more than most about what was truly out there. And about two men who made it their mission to help people with problems of that sort and who operated mostly in the shadows.

Biting her lip, Barb requested the chance to message the author of the comment. She thought through what she wanted to say, crafted it carefully, and after a moment's hesitation hit send. Then, wondering if she'd done the right thing, she went to bed.

It was the next afternoon before Barb sat down at her computer again and was a little surprised to see that she'd gotten a response.

She had written, I once knew a couple of heroes like you're talking about. They had a big, black antelope and towered above the rest. She didn't want to let just anyone know too much about the Winchesters or the connection she had to them, but she wanted to give enough information that just in case the person behind the message actually had met them, they could identify them from her clues. The antelope, of course, was the Impala and the "towered" a reference to their height. Given the answer she'd received, it appeared as if she'd been right about the original commenter.

I know the antelope you're talking about, the response said. The two heroes – we'll call them Elliott and James – saved my life once, and I wish they were still out there.

Barb leaned back in her chair. Elliott and James? She didn't figure it out until she finally thought of Sam Elliott, the actor with the fantastic white mustache. It didn't take her long to after that to think of James Dean. "Huh," she said aloud. "How about that?"

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

"Hey, Dean, Barb is calling!" Sam hollered. He was sitting in the war room reading with his phone on the table in front of him. Dean popped out of the kitchen wearing the dead guy robe and with a mug shaped like Darth Vader's head in his hand.

"Sweet!"

Sam touched the button to answer the phone on speaker. "Hello, Barb. Dean's here too."

"Hi Sam and Dean!" came the enthusiastic voice over the phone. "How are you?"

"We're doing w –" Sam started when Dean interrupted.

"Awesome. I killed Hitler!"

"You...really? Was he a ghost?" Barb took the news with her characteristic aplomb.

"No. It's a long story," Sam said before Dean could launch into it. "Are you okay?" She never called them without a good reason.

"Yeah, any dead neighbors or something you can't handle with your mower blade?" Dean asked, referencing the first time they'd met the woman.

Barb snorted. "Nah. Ghosts run when they hear my name! But, uh, I may have found someone who needs your help. In fact, she claims that you two helped her once before. Seems like a nice girl, and the story she's telling is in the newspapers, but she's under the impression that you two are dead. I figured that you should be the ones to decide whether or not to let her know that the accounts of your demise have been greatly exaggerated."

Sam had to chuckle. Barb was simultaneously effervescent, witty, and sarcastic, a difficult combination to achieve. She was completely unintimidated by the Winchesters or what they did for a living. In fact, the first time they'd met her, she'd acted like a helpless old lady and then pulled Dean's own gun on him. Her affection for them was genuine, too.

"What's the story, then?" Dean asked. "And who's the chick?"

"She says you knew her as Charlie," said Barb. Sam flinched badly and saw Dean do the same.

"Back in 2005. In this little town in Ohio, people started bleeding from their eyes and dying. This Charlene, as she goes by now, claims she was there and targeted by the thing doing the killing but you two saved her life," Barb continued blithely, unaware of their reactions to the name.

"Oh!" Sam suddenly realized who Barb was apparently communicating with. Though it had been about a dozen years before, he could hardly forget the face of "Bloody Mary" twisted in malicious glee as she'd turned Sam's guilt into pain and blood. "Yeah, that was us."

Dean caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, silently checking if Sam was onboard with contacting this person to see if she was who she said she was. Sam gave a slight shrug. He wasn't sure yet.

"What's up now?" Dean asked. "Did she tell you?"

"A little. She works for a really rich guy. His daughter is getting married at some castle in Washington State in a few months and she's there to help plan things. Well, suddenly, people are getting hurt left and right, mauled by something that doesn't match any known animals, unless maybe a dinosaur or something. But nothing normal or, you know, natural."

"We could totally kill a dinosaur," Dean said confidently.

"What castle?" asked Sam pragmatically. "Actually, would you mind just giving us contact information for this Charlene so we can talk to her ourselves? It sounds like you may have found us a case."

"Yeah, good work, Nancy Drew," Dean added.

"I'll send it to you on two conditions," Barb responded quickly. "If you do go to Washington, you need to stop in Iowa on your way home to say hi to a lonesome old lady. And you have to tell me all the juicy case details."

"Lonely, huh?" Dean teased. "With your hubby and sons and daughters-in-law and grandkids and nosy neighbors and of course all of the crazy sisters of yours?"

"We should be able to do that," Sam said. He smiled to himself. He'd like to see Barb again.

As if he didn't feel the same way, Dean had to add, "Only if you cook for us."

"You kill me a dinosaur, I'll grill it up for you," Barb promised. "And remember, every gratuitous detail. And you two be careful."

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

It didn't take much time to convince Charlie to agree to a Skype meeting, though it was pretty clear that she didn't have many expectations. That all changed the moment she saw their faces. Sam wouldn't have recognized her, but she clearly recognized them. Her mouth fell open.

"It's really you," she whispered.

Sam took a moment to study the young woman as she regained her composure. She was impeccably dressed in a dark suit with a fashionably arranged red scarf that matched her lipstick. She was made up subtly (other than the lipstick) and attractively and her hair fell in practically perfect blonde waves several shades lighter than Sam remembered it. Until she'd evinced surprise, her face had been set in a pleasant professional mask.

She was a pretty woman who clearly took care of herself and her appearance, but she also looked tired and had not-quite-concealed circles under her eyes.

"Hi, Charlie," Dean greeted warmly. Reminders of successes and people they'd saved always meant a lot to him. It was wonderful to see that not only had Charlie gotten past her brush with the supernatural but had made an apparently very good life for herself. "How are ya? Rumor has it you could use some help."

"Uh, I go by Charlene now, if you don't mind. I'm doing...well except for the problems we've had lately. I can't believe I found you, or you found me, I guess. Or your friend found me." She shook her head in amazement. "I heard you were deceased years ago. How are you two?"

Sam smiled a little, thinking about Barb's comment. "We're still here, still trying to help out. Could you tell us what's going on?"

"Of course, of course." He could practically see Charlene pull her business personality back on. "I'm on the logistics staff for Harvey Terhorst." She paused for their reactions and Sam felt his eyebrows go up.

"The hedge fund guru?" he asked, referring to a financial guru who regularly made the Forbes 500 list.

"The same." Charlene nodded. "I'm on the team that makes arrangements for events, especially ones he hosts, and for his travel, makes sure his houses are ready for him to stay in them, all of that kind of thing."

"So when Harv says, 'talk to my people,' he means you?" Dean asked.

"I'm one of them, yes." Charlene didn't seem offended. "Mr. Terhorst's daughter Malika is getting married, and she wanted to get married in a literal castle. And, of course, it can't be some castle that just anyone else could rent. No, they chose a privately-owned castle that the owners never let anyone inside of and paid them so much that they couldn't refuse.

"So a handful of us are out here already to start figuring out how many locals we can hire, how many people we'll have to bring in, where we're going to house them, how the wedding guests will get to the venue, and so forth." She rubbed her forehead, her hand trembling slightly. "A high member of the security crew was taking a walk around the grounds to get a feel for the layout when he heard sounds like an animal in pain. He followed the sounds into a cluster of trees and something attacked him. It nearly tore his leg off and he's lucky to be alive."

"Something…?" Sam asked.

"He didn't see it," Charlene sighed. "The man who ran to his aid was gouged too, apparently with claws, but he didn't see anything either. The whole situation was so strange that I did a little internet searching and found out that there have been more maulings in the area recently and that nobody can figure out what kind of animal it could be – there aren't any prints or anything. The police can't find anything. Animal Control can't find anything. Our security can't find anything. One of the tabloids keep talking about Yakima's Yeti and The Hound of Congdon Castle like it's some big joke ." She looked straight at them, her mouth twisted bitterly. Sam could read her fear in her eyes. "I can't – I don't know if I can go through this again. I chose a job that has me constantly traveling because it felt like it would be harder for evil to find me, you know? I got to the point that I finally could sleep through the night. I – " She took a long breath and blushed. "I'm sorry about that. But please, please, could you possibly come and investigate?"

Sam felt for the woman. Nobody deserved to face what she had, and especially not twice. He looked at Dean to get a quick opinion. Satisfied that they were on the same page, he said, "Let us take a look at the information that's out there. It sounds like it may be in our wheelhouse, and if we still think so after a little digging, we'll come out. How about we call you in a couple of hours to let you know?"

For the first time, Charlene relaxed a little. "Sure. Yes. Of course. I would appreciate it more than you know."

"Hey, if there's all that security and all those agencies already involved, do you have a way in for us?" Dean wanted to know. "We can't exactly show up and pretend to be detectives or wildlife officers or something if real detective and wildlife officers are already involved."

"Yes, I think so," the woman answered eagerly. "You'd have to be someone hired as temporary staff for the event, but I have the clearance to do that. I'd just have to figure out in what capacity we still need people."

They talked for a couple more moments before Charlene reluctantly had to go. By then, all three of them were sure that the Winchesters would shortly be heading to Yakima, Washington.

Sam made a new pot of coffee and pulled up Legends and Cryptids of the Pacific Northwest while Dean heated some cinnamon rolls from Lebanon's best bakery and pulled up news articles about the attacks. Their newest hunt was effectively underway.

* * *

AN: Hey, in addition to timing of the story, we also already have the OC and "other character" that were chosen, as well as the location of the hunt – the very cool (and very real) Congdon's Castle of Yakima, Washington. More of the prompts to be revealed soon.

Janice really wanted another OC to turn up, Timothy the rompo from The Gauntlet. I wanted to comply (partly because she asked and partly because I love Timothy), but the story with him is set after this story. Bummer.