A/N: This one's just for fun. :) An interlude, if you will?

Appendix F

Alex Age 18

Acclimating

(The Struggle is Real)

Sam and Dean sat in the Impala, parked inconspicuously across the street from the house they suspected to harbor the werewolf they were hunting. The full moon glared down from overhead; midnight approached. They kept a close eye on what little they could see of the interior of the building through the living room window.

"Dean?" Sam inquired absently.

"Yeah?" Dean replied, not shifting his gaze from the house.

"What's that smell?"

"I don't know. Probably you."

"Not me, dude."

"You sure? What have you eaten today?"

"It's not me, Dean," insisted Sam. "Seriously, what is that?"

"If I knew, don't you think I'd have done something about it by now?"

"Is it you?"

"No!"

"Well, it's something," said Sam. "God, it's like… dirty diaper…."

Sam began casting around, searching the interior of the Impala for the source of the odor. He even began sniffing in an attempt to hone in on the offending object.

"Sam, is this really a good time to play 'Find the Bad Smell'?" Dean asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" countered Sam as he dug under the front bench. "We're just waiting."

"Yeah, for some guy to wolf out and go tear some poor dude's heart from his chest," retorted Dean.

He shook his head, still watching the house. Dean's attention was only pulled away when he heard the sniffing draw nearer and turned to see Sam was inhaling him. He stared down his brother with pursed lips.

"Really?"

Sam threw up his hands and pulled back a touch. "You've told bigger lies before."

Dean sighed and returned his attention to their target as Sam proceeded to twist around and kneel on his seat, hanging over the back of the bench to dig in the rear of the cab.

"I think we need to get you checked out, little brother," commented Dean. "You're starting to lose it."

"I've lived a long life with a lot of bad smells, Dean," was Sam's argument. "I've had it. Ah-HA!"

There came a metallic crinkling and Sam returned from the rear with a small, half-eaten bag of some kind of crunchy, cheesy snack. He took a quick whiff of the crumpled opening and cringed as he confirmed this was, in fact, the bad smell.

"It's that crap you got at the gas station a couple days ago," chided Sam.

"Hey, those were pretty good," said Dean, snagging the bag and looking it over. "Wonder why I didn't finish them…." He gave the bag a sniff, which elicited a similar reaction to his brother's. "Oof, yeah, they've ripened."

Then, before Sam could prevent it, Dean reached in, pulled out a morsel, and popped it in his mouth.

"Ugh—dude," Sam said, his face contorting in disgust.

"What? They're fine!" said Dean. "Kinda good, even. They just smell funky. And they're a little stale…. Why didn't I—? Nope, there it is. Weird aftertaste. Forgot about that."

"Okay, well," said Sam, "when you're up in the wee hours of the morning puking your guts out, shut the door to the bathroom. The light and the retching sounds keep me up."

"Sam, they're fine!" insisted Dean. "Do you see the amount of salt they put in these things? When the nukes hit, it'll be cockroaches and—," he paused to read the label, "—Cheez-E Blasts left over. This is what the cockroaches will be eating."

Sam rolled his eyes. When he glanced back over, he saw Dean contemplating the bag. After a moment's pause, the elder Winchester shrugged and reached in for another bite.

"Oh my God," Sam huffed and snatched the Cheez-E Blasts from his brother's hands.

"Hey!" Dean barked.

Sam gestured at him pointedly with the bag. "You are not a cockroach." Then he rolled it up as tight as he could and shoved it in the glove box in the hopes the smell would be contained until he could dispose of it.

Dean took his turn to roll his eyes and resumed his stakeout duties. Sam settled in as well.

They didn't get to spend much time in silence. Hectic shadows passed in front of the window they watched, and the distant, muffled sound of furniture getting banged into reached the Impala.

"All right, here we go," said Dean, opening his door.

Sam followed suit. Guns at the ready—their silver bullet clips loaded—they crossed the street swiftly and stealthily. By the time they reached the door, it was clear someone was transforming within the dwelling. Dean took up position on one side of the door, Sam on the other. The elder tipped his chin to ask if the younger was ready, and the latter nodded.

But just at that moment, Sam's phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He yanked it out quickly to check if it was urgent. Whether it was an emergency or not, he didn't know, but the name on the caller ID still made his breath catch.

"Not a great time, Sam," Dean murmured.

"It's Alex," replied Sam in a rapid whisper.

"What?" Dean hissed. "At midnight on a friggin' Thursday?"

"She's probably just up doing homework late," Sam tried to brush it aside, but he stared anxiously at his ringing phone. "We've gotta move—,"

"I don't care!" Dean bit back quietly. "Answer it!"

A scream came from inside the house.

"I've got this, just answer it!" Dean snapped, then bolted inside.

Sam took a few quick steps down the front stairs as he picked up the call.

"Hey, Alex!" he said, trying to sound as chipper and casual as he could. "Everything okay?"

"Uncle Sam!" Alex sobbed over the line.

"Oh God, what's wrong?!" Sam shouted in terror.

"What?!" Dean immediately reappeared in the doorway.

"This is… it's so hard!" Alex cried. "I've never had this much homework in my life!"

Sam leaned his head back, shut his eyes, and sighed with relief.

"And I have fewer classes! How do I have fewer classes than I did in high school and more homework? How does that math? Tell me how that maths, because so far my trig class has not given me that equation. I'm still up because of a paper that's due tomorrow. Who assigns a paper for a freshman course in the first two weeks of school? The fuck is that?"

"Sam!" Dean hollered.

Sam turned, holding the phone away as he addressed his brother; "It's okay. It's school—she's just stressed."

"Oh, thank God," Dean sighed.

He turned back to the interior of the house, only to find the werewolf, completely transformed, standing directly in front of him. It inspected him with glowering eyes as it panted from its ordeal. Dean froze for a second, then gave a sheepish smile.

"Hey," he said. Then after an awkward pause; "I'm Dean."

The werewolf didn't move, but its eyes shifted down to the gun in Dean's hand. Dean noticed the glance and looked at his weapon. He gave the werewolf a shrug and a laugh.

"Oh, nah, this is," he fumbled, waving the weapon nonchalantly, "this is a prop gun. Full of blanks. Not…" he tried to frown reassuringly and shake his head, "not… silver bullets."

With that, the werewolf grabbed him by the jacket and heaved him down the hallway.

Out on the sidewalk, Sam worked to talk down his niece. "I know it's hard, Alex. It's a big jump from high school to college."

"I just don't know how I'm going to keep going at this pace!" she replied. "I feel like I'm doing school every waking hour! But I still have to eat, but somehow that suddenly takes up, like, a ridiculous amount of time? I don't understand. I eat at the same speed! Was that Dad?"

She had overheard Dean's shout as he flew the length of the hall.

"Yeah, that's him," said Sam. "Don't worry; he's fine. I can see him—on his feet already."

"Oh my God, are you on a hunt?" Alex said in horror. "Here I was worried I was waking you up, but I'm interrupting a hunt!"

"Really, Alex, it's fine!" insisted Sam. "It's just the one werewolf. Your dad's got it. If it starts to go sideways, I'll jump off. 'Kay?"

"You're sure?" asked Alex anxiously.

"Oh, yeah," said Sam.

She sighed. "I wish I was hunting with you and Dad. Makes so much more sense. And it's like one thing, not four things and, like, twelve potential extracurriculars. You know how many of the other freshman are doing a bunch of clubs and committees and crap? I feel so lame, like I'm doing nothing, but I'm constantly doing something all the time!" She groaned loudly. "Can you come and get me?"

Sam gave a small chuckle as he leaned against the banister by the steps. "Well, I will tell you yes, we will absolutely come and get you if that's what you really want. But first I'm going to encourage you to stay, okay?"

Alex sighed. "All right, give me the spiel."

"First off, you're not lame," Sam started in. "You are doing a lot of work; you don't need all the extracurriculars to be busy." As he spoke, he glanced back through the now vacant doorway, saw the fight had moved to the living room, and hauled himself off the banister to wander in the direction of the window so he could see inside. "And all those freshmen piling everything on, they're going to burn out. You watch; end of the semester, most of them will have dropped all of those clubs and be desperately trying to catch up on their school work so they can eek out a passing grade on their finals."

"'Most of them'?"

"Well, there's always a few really irritating kids who do manage to do it all," said Sam. "They tend to be really neurotic, though—dude, get your gun," he mumbled to himself as he peered into the house.

"What?" Alex asked.

"Nothing," said Sam.

There came a shout and a crash.

"What was that?"

"Coffee table," said Sam. "As I was saying, you're not lame. You are doing more work than high school, no question. And that's not going to change. But it's just all really new right now."

There was another crash.

"What was that?" Alex asked.

"Bookshelf," said Sam. "Well, more of a china hutch. But that's the real reason why you wish you were hunting right now instead. It's not less work, Alex, it's familiar. Remember how intimidating and exhausting it was the first time you worked a case with us?"

Alex's tone denoted a mix of exasperation and relief at her uncle's prompt. "Yeah."

"College is just new," said Sam. "Once you get your schedule and your routine figured out, it'll get easier. You won't be doing less work, but you'll get used to it, just like you got used to high school, just like you got used to hunting."

"I suppose," Alex admitted. "Speaking of hunting, Dad still doing okay?"

"Oh, yeah, he's fine," said Sam, casually looking in on the fight. "A little banged up, but nothing too bad."

"Are you sure you don't need to go help him?"

"Nah, honestly, I've seen him in worse shape doing shots at the bar," Sam rolled his eyes. "Comes over with his knuckles all bloody, 'you should see the other guy', and it's a friggin' mirror. Yeah, your knuckles are bloody because you punched glass, you moron."

Alex laughed over the line. "I don't think I've ever seen him that drunk."

"Yeah, it's been a while since either of us have gone that hard," said Sam.

"You've partied that hard?" Alex sounded incredulous. "Okay, Dad I can imagine, but you I cannot picture that drunk."

Sam gave a tiny sniff of amusement. "Oh, I've been there. Done some really stupid things, too. Alcohol makes you an idiot, no matter who you are. Remember that. Especially over these next four years."

Alex snickered a little at the comment. "I will."

"You're a smart kid, Alex," said Sam. "You can handle this. And I know I've said it before, but try to get past this part so you won't miss out on something you might enjoy. I mean, think about it; what would you miss out on if we came and got you tonight?"

Alex's intake of breath came over the line as she thought. "I don't know…. My trig professor is oddly funny. And my folklore professor is oddly not funny. Would have thought those would have been switched…. I guess the food's pretty good…. Although, Dad's burgers are better than the ones here…. I guess I'd miss Jenna."

"Really, Jenna?" Sam asked. "You two are still getting along?"

"Oh, totally," said Alex. "It's never a dull moment with her. Oh my God! So, we took the bus to Target last weekend for, like, snacks and stuff, and for no good reason, she got a pack of stick-on googly eyes, and all week she's been putting them randomly on things. My favorite so far was definitely a pair she adhered to one of my bras."

Sam snorted noisily. "Did you say 'one of your bras'?"

"Yeah," Alex sounded just as amused. "One on each cup, like little, goofy nipples."

"Oh my God," Sam just about cried trying not to laugh too hard. "Were they difficult to remove?"

"Don't know. I put that thing on, googly eyes and all, finished dressing, and booked it to class. Jenna was still laughing when I left our room," said Alex, and Sam could hear her grinning over the phone.

"Well, I'm glad you're entertaining each other. Better than the alternative, that's for sure," said Sam. "I was worried she might be… a lot…."

"Yeah, well, I can handle a lot," said Alex. "I guess you're right. I'd miss out on some really fun stuff if I ditched the whole thing right now."

"So you're feeling better?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I guess I am," said Alex. "Thanks, Uncle Sam.

"Dad still alive?"

"Yeah, he's—whoa!"

Sam dodged backward, throwing up an arm to shield his face, as Dean came through the window and landed on his back on the front lawn in a shower of glass. The werewolf appeared shortly thereafter, leaping onto the sill and ready to pounce again. Sam pulled his gun and shot it through the heart. It fell backwards into the living room and out of sight.

"You just shot the werewolf, didn't you?" Alex asked.

"Yeah," said Sam.

"You couldn't have done that a little sooner?" Dean snapped at his brother from where he lay panting.

"I was talking to Alex," Sam gestured to his phone.

"Sorry, Dad!" Alex called.

"You want to talk to her?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied wearily between breaths, reaching up for Sam's cell.

"I'll go clean up the body," said Sam, heading back to the front door.

"Hey, baby girl," said Dean, still lying on the ground, his eyes shut in pain. "How's college treating you?"

"Ugh, it's a lot, but I'm okay. Uncle Sam helped a bunch," replied Alex.

"Oh, good," Dean managed to comment.

"Oh! I have to tell you what Jenna did—you're gonna laugh…."