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Choose Your Own Supernatural

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Setting the plot

You've been this way before. Skip ahead.

It was a vast room filled with shelves and trinkets and toy guns and old books and posters, and not altogether a lot of light.

It was an old room in an old house.

There were two women crouched on the floor with scissors and bitching.

There was a woman sitting at the table and sewing on the only serger.

There were three women running around in their underwear. Bearing the stab wounds of pins and the scratch marks of fittings dragged on and off.

Periodically the lights flickered and went out. Causing one of the women to leap and wave her arms to get them back on. The lights were motion sensitive.

There were three women sitting on chairs picking out stitches and silently cursing black stitches on black fabric.

Nine Nazgurls costuming. The faded deco poster of the Partridge in the Pear tree seemed to mock them.

The road to making the Nazgurl's costumes had not been an easy one. The gaudy plastic engagement rings (Sauron: he gave us each a ring and told us we were the only one. The rat bastard!) had required a special trip to Evangeline's forty miles away (well, it's not like any old ring would do for nine brides of darkness). The fabric had required a trip to the garment district in LA (and there was a story and a half. No one died. But there had been some crushing). And while perfect in flutter and form, the fabric was hellishly slippery to cut and sew.

Then there was the actual process of sewing everyone's matching cloaks and outfits. And sewing and sewing and herding of cats (Nazgurls being notoriously hard to herd) and sewing and herding of cats and sewing.

They were in the final stretch and tempers were wearing thin. "Oh, argh!" said Nazgurl nine, from the cutting board on the floor. She clutched her left hand where a too quick snip had cut a bit more than fabric.

Nazgurl three said, "You okay?"

Nazgurl nine said, "Yeah. I'm fine." and held her hand.

Nazgurl's one through eight, with the exception of Nazgurl three, said in unison, "Then don't bleed on the fabric."

It was too late. It wasn't a lot of blood. Just a drop or two. It was black fabric. Shiny, fluttery, velvety black bloody fabric. Nazgurl nine sighed. Made the last few snips and said, "I'll be in the bathroom."

She picked up the fabric and went deeper into the house. When they heard her scream, the other Nazgurl's came running, but other than a scrap of black fabric, there was no trace of Nazgurl number nine.

Which was unfortunate. What good are eight Nazgurls?

Enter the brothers Winchester

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Dean lets attractive drunk women ply him with alcohol.

skip down

Like there's even a question.

Dean let the three Nazgurl's come to him. A Nazgrul with wine stained teeth said, "Hey, we've seen you around. Wanna join us. We've got room in the limo."

One of the women sobbed and ran away. Strange little Nazgurl.

The wine stained Nazgurl said, "Hmm..." and sidled up to Dean. She said, "I love wine tastings. "The way it clings to the glass. The way it smells. The way the wine tastes when you drink a little and then breath in. Let the oxygen play with the wine on your tongue." She drank a little and then breathed in through her mouth.

The other Nazgurl laughed, "Two, you so plastered. Ya gotta spit. "

Nazgurl two glanced briefly at Nazgurl one. Licked her lips. Smiled. Held out her glass to Dean, "Want some?"

Not exactly, but, "Sure." Dean tasted a little. Tasted like tar. And cabbage. And tobacco. And, everlasting gobstopper. And, he couldn't move.

"Relax," said the wine stained Nazgurl, and giggled drunkenly, "We'll take really good care of you."

Nazgurl one said, "Should you be doing that?"

Nazgurl two said, "Yes, I should." She turned to the man behind the tasting bar. "I'll take a case of really old, old Zin, and if you could box him up too? Thanks."

Oh, no. Dear reader, can Dean escape the clutches of this Nefarious, Drunken, and possibly Fangurl?

Well, actually, hmm.

~

So, in that this is a choose your own adventure, do you want Dean beamed to your house

or do you want Sam to save him?

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Smile and back away slowly. Dean goes for the food table

skip down

Uh, in a guys don't dance, food table over there, Sam would never let him live it down, kinda way, "Uh, no."

The chick in the black Marilyn dress said, "So, even though there are women without partners, you will not dance."

Dean edged around the women, "I don't dance."

The women nodded at each other and twisted their big ass plastic rings, which kinda flashed and sparkled. Strange women.

The brothers Winchester smiled and backed away slowly. They headed for the food table.

Odd, he had this sudden desire for tea. And scones. And, that wasn't right at all. He looked at Sam, "Why do I know how to tie the Mathematical?" He looked down. "Sam, why am I wearing a cravat? Why do I know what the expletive deleted, the expletive deleted, the Good Lord, a cravat even is?"

He looked at Sam. Dean tried to say 'expletive deleted' and 'expletive deleted,' and it all came out expletive deleted and, "Good Lord." Those were not the clothes Sammy had been wearing a moment ago. Dean said, "This is just wrong."

Sam said,

 

"IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, the truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters." Sam looked wildly around the room and pointed at the women who were smiling brilliantly and laughing. "Those women. They hexed us. With Pride and Prejudice."

Dean said, "What," for form's sake, because Oh, Good Lord, he knew every single chick flicking word of P&P... It was unholy, it was, "I am not a Mr. Darcy. I'm..."

And sadly, what he would have said next was drowned out by the thought that the woman in the draped velvet gown had exceedingly fine eyes.

~

Well at least Dean and Sam got a really nice estate in Darbyshire out of the deal. The End.

Um, what kind of ending is that? That's just. That's just wrong. Dean drinking tea. Ptui. You spit upon that ending and take your stylish, yet affordable boots walking back to the beginning.

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Totem Motel Sauna Baby!

skip down, tra, la, la

Dear Reader, the difficulty with trying to write a story from a view point character is, well, I can't actually imagine Dean going on about warm sweat trickling down slick muscled skin. Well, unless this were Wincest.

Hot steamy Wincest.

The sharp scent of Eucalyptus mixing with hot dry air, searing on the inhale and leaving bodies limp against the cedar wood walls. Too hot to move inside this tiny enclosed box, and yet inches away, skin. Dripping with the same salty sweat beading on dry longing lips. Swallowing down bottled water, but that's not what's wanted. Giving in and offering to rub shoulders tense from hours on the road, from your last playmate's rough trade, from what isn't said. Sitting legs spread, with him sitting on the bench below. Leaning into the bench. Into kneading hands on tense, hard muscles under soft, damp skin in this tiny, hot, dry room with its steamy window on the world, and there's only twenty more minutes before the timer's up. Before you have to go out into the cold again. Heart pounding in the hot, close air. Reaching out to brush back that one strand of hair, as he looks back, that face you know better than your own, and all you have left in the world feels like it's in this tiny room. And you think if not now, then...wait, no, um, you know I wasn't actually going to go there. I'm not even that into the Wincest, but they're just so pretty. Plus, I love a good sauna.

A moment while I hit the freezing cold showers outside of the sauna, thus preserving the privacy of the moment.

Dean leaned back against the wall of the sauna. "Thanks, man. That Garwaff packed a punch." He could practically feel his muscles becoming spaghetti. Sammy had an odd expression on his face.

Dean said, "Throat still hurting from where the Bisclavret tried to choke you?"

Sammy drank some bottled water, but started to choke. Dean shook his head, "Swallow dude." Dean slapped Sammy's back.

Sammy croaked, "I'm fine."

Dean flopped back down on his bench and said, "Much as I enjoy a visit to a hot box with my brother, we should talk over our game plan."

~

You don't want to talk about a freaking game plan, you wanted a gosh durn PWP tale of Wincest. Why else would they stay at the Totem Lodge!

What are you talking about? They're brothers! Brothers taking advantage of the sauna so we can ogle them. Err...so, they can become refreshed and relaxed from their journey.

~

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They bluff.

skip down, tra, la, la

Dean flashed a badge at the cops. "We're with the FBI, investigating a local cult. We're going to have to ask you to evacuate this facility."

A zombie lurched forward out of the rows of vines. Sam said, "You, uh, might want to step away from the um, cultist."

The zombie groaned, "Brains."

Red shirt cop number one looked at the Impala, the brothers, the guns, the zombies.

The zombie reached out, "Brains." and stumbled forward. Its face was kind of, okay, maybe Dean shouldn't have gone with cultist. But no one ever believed zombies.

Red shirt cop number one pulled his gun and said, "I don't know what you boys are trying to pull, but..."

Several more zombies stumbled out of the vines.

"Holy Crap!" said red shirt cop number two. One of the zombies was missing part of its face. Now, that was just nasty.

Sam said, "Sir, you might want to back away from the,"

Red shirt cop number two put a full clip into the body of the really decrepit zombie.

"Aim for the head dumbass," said Dean and dropped a couple of shufflers.

For several minutes, they shot zombies.

Several minutes later, it was getting boring.

After several more minutes, "Where are all these zombies coming from?" said Sam. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"See what happens when you read the Necronomicon," said Dean.

"Yeah. Fine. Don't read the Necronomicon. Don't raise the dead. Don't wreck the car," said Sam. He shot a few more zombies. "We should take shelter in the winery."

Dean looked at the winery windows. Everyone was just sort of standing by the window. Including the chick with the Necronomicon, who was beginning to look just a little, um, dead. She was tapping the forehead of one of the other Nazgurls.

He so didn't want to have to say it. Several more zombies stumbled through the vines. He was going to have to say it.

He didn't have to say it.

"I'll go get the book," said Sam.

"And if the Nazgurl becomes a zombie?" Dean said. The chick was looking seriously hungry.

"Yeah, yeah, zombies bad." said Sam, going into the winery.

"Try not to melt your brain jerk," called out Dean, taking down a zombie crawling through some old, old, vine zinfandel (there was a sign).

The undead were beginning to pile up. Which worked. Kind of a natural barrier. But they just kept coming. Good thing Dean had stocked up on amo.

Red shirt cop number two threw his empty gun at a zombie. He threw like a girl.

Sam came back with the Necronomicon. It was jerking around in Sam's hands. Freaking evil book.

Sam paused and looked at Dean.

Dean said, "Oh, just read the bitch already."

A couple of minutes later, the undead were dead again, poor tragic Nazgurl one and three (brains) were dead for the first time. Sam's hand was shaken by the not so red shirted cops, while Dean got a date with the remaining Nazgurl and a free case of old, old vine zinfandel . Not their normal brew, but the Nazgurl seemed to like it. A lot.

Good times.

Now if he could just pry Sammy's hands off the Necronomicon.

~

All is right with the world. The dead are dead and Dean's going to score. The end

But you're kind of unclear on why the first chick disappeared? Are zombies a fabric related injury? You don't think so. And because you have an ever inquiring mind, you go again.

~

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Dean gets emo for no particular reason.

skip down, fi, fi, fo, fum

(Insert emo comment of your choice here. Perhaps something from their childhood involving a puppy or a kitten. The time Dean turned away from Sam for a second and a demon ate Sam's copy of Green Eggs and Ham. Sad, sad DaddyWinchester neglect, which was A-okay with Dean. Dammit.)

Dean stopped speaking. Worn out. Sam patted his shoulder awkwardly.

Just then, a giant disco ball appeared. There was a drum roll and some dry ice smoke and then Alexander the Great and Cu Cuthulain, on their erotic adventures through space and time, stepped out of it. (What? Yeah, um, they show up in all my stories like this. And ah, well, no, there's really no reason for you to have heard of them. I wasn't actually expecting anyone to make this far.)

Cu Cuthulain tossed his incredibly beautiful red, green, blue and purple hair over one shoulder and held up an amulet, which was glowing chartreuse, "As I suspected, there's been a great emo disturbance in this fanfic."

Alexander the Great pulled off his really short toga (Yes, I know, it wouldn't be a toga, but do you think the characters know that?) and said, "There's only one hope. PWP sex, followed by intense philosophical discussion on the nature of the universe."

"What?" said Dean. "I don't want to have sex with you. You're guys. I'm not gay. And Sammy's my brother. And why would I want to discuss philosophy What! Put that back on." Alexander the Great was butt naked. Dean did not look down. Just, no!

Sam nodded his head. "Yeah. No. That's just, wrong."

Cu Cuthulain's six eyes sparkled. "Don't worry, you won't remember a thing."

The disco ball flashed. Nine hours, eight sets of handcuffs, seven Leda swans, six maids a milking, five cock rings, four velvet whips, three strawberries, two dancing dogs, and a small pink rubber ball later, and Dean understood why Alexander was known as the Great.

They were lounging on the grass, naked, but discreetly blocked from view by obstructing headstones, discussing Kant's Aesthetics, and the tension between Utilitarianism, Stoicism, and Epicureanism (yes Dean too), which illuminated several key points on the nature of suffering, free will, and moral objectivity.

Sam said, "Wow, I really do feel a lot better."

Alexander the Great and Cu Cuthulain high fived.

Alexander looked around at the general wreckage in front of the crypts. "We can't just leave the place like this?"

Cu Cuthulain held up a purple amulet with his fifth hand. "I have just the thing." It flashed.

Dean blinked his eyes and he was driving down the highway. Sam was sitting next to him. "Did you say something," Dean said.

"No," said Sam.

The Impala growled.

Dean looked in his rear view mirror. He said, "Dude, it's that bitch Speed Racer." The Mach One was trying to tailgate the Impala.

The Metallicar, errr, the Impala, mocked the Mach One. Sunlight failing completely to reflect off the dust on the Impala's back bumper.

Dean grinned, said, "Hang on," and slammed on the brakes. The Impala rolled right over the Mach One.

Dean punched the accelerator, leaving behind an madly hopping monkey. That was one pissed off monkey. "Heh, heh, heh. "

Sam looked out the window, looked back at Dean, worried his hair and said, "Oh, I know, it was about the next job. It was a fabric related injury."

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What? They're brothers.

skip down, toodles

Anyway, so, as long as we understand they're both wearing fluffy white towels (sorry) and sitting in a sauna. And so...

Sam said, "Okay, so far we know that two women have disappeared in the Mystery House."

"Two? Which one had the fabric related accident?" said Dean. Leaning back against the wall. He could still feel where the Garwaff had thrown him through the wall last night. Maybe he was getting old.

Nah.

"The first one was fabric related. The second one disappeared while they were searching the house for the first one," said Sam, adjusting his towel. "According to the fully downloadable town hall records, the house has a history of mysterious disappearances. In 1910, when it was a restaurant, the Gay '90s, a busboy, disappeared between the restaurant and the kitchen. It changed hands a number of times. Owners have disappeared in 31, 41, 56, 71, and again now."

The timer on the sauna dinged.

"Sounds like we check out the Mystery house."

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They open the door on the left.

skip down, tra, la, la.

(Wait. There hasn't been enough guns. Even if there have been guns, we need more guns. Well then.)

There was a thump and a groaning noise from behind the door on the left. A really big thump.

"Don't let it be rats," muttered Dean.

"Big giant hairy rats," said Sam, pulling out a Beretta full of wax and holy water hollow points.

"Dude, just open the door," said Dean, priming the shot gun.

Sam held carefully turned the door knob.

The door swung open onto stairs leading down into black. Sam flipped the light switch. Nothing.

Sam shone his flashlight down the stairs. Something moved in the dark. A flash as the light reflected off something's eyes. Really, really, big eyes.

Sam nodded to Dean and they slowly walked down the stairs. That was when they saw it.

I wish I could tell you what they saw, but it is a story for which the world is not yet ready. Suffice to say that the Giant Rat of Sumatra is finally well and truly dead.

Full of salt and bullets and decapitated with a shovel dead. Boot to the head, no really, dead. "This is your fault," said Dean.

"How is it my fault?" said Sam, looking at the remains of dozens of poor souls, including poor sad Nazgurl eight.

"You asked for rats? Next time, ask for demons with tentacles or something," said Dean, sprinkling holy water on the various dead bodies, just to be sure.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean said, "What?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

~

Good. It was about time the Giant Rat of Sumatra died. The end.

But then again, that's kind of a dubious Sherlock Holmes cross. And it's not like they found the bodies of more than one Nazgurl. Nope, not ready to rest until you know the truth, which is like totally out there, you head back to the beginning.

~

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They go to the house where the poor sad maguffin girl disappeared

Don't pass go, skip down

It was a weathered old house, but none of the houses on the street were new.

It was an old neighborhood.

Cracked windows in peeling window frames and covered in bars. Weeds grew from cracks in the cement and dead eyed children sat listlessly on curbs.

The Impala glowered at other, weaker, models that sat on blocks in driveways. Wheel-less and pathetic. The Impala curled its grill and waited for the return of the brothers Winchester.

Sam was about to knock on the front door of the old house, when it swung open. A woman wearing a black dress stood in the door. She said, "Oh, hello." There was a small pile up of women in black behind her. "We were just heading out."

Dean flashed a badge. "Ma'am, we're here about the recent disappearance. If we could just ask a few questions."

The women all began to speak at once. "It was horrible." "Now there's only seven of us." "Seven? "Get off my foot." "I think it was the ghost." "I'm not on your foot." "Yeah, eight's gone missing." "Hello hottness cops." "What?" "We already talked to the cops." "Wow, yeah, you're right, yum." "Seven. What good are seven Nazgurls?"

The woman in front shook her head, "Like herding cats." She stepped out onto the sidewalk. "We're holding a get together in our favorite cemetery. You can tag along if you want, or, we can meet later?"

~

Go the cemetery? They're like a second home.

Hang around until the women leave and break into the house? What, come on. Everyone loves a good break in.

~

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They go to number Nine's house, sad Beatrice like girl

Hop, scotch, skip down

Dean looked left. Dean looked right. Quiet little neighborhood. For some reason there was a duck waddling around the driveway. But as long as the mallard didn't say anything, they were good.

Quick twist and click, and they were in.

The door swung open. Sam and Dean looked at the living room.

"Huh."

Purple and brown and green grapes were painted next to the ceiling all the way around the room. Bright yellow and brown blotchy walls. Red couch. Yellow papasan.

Someone was seriously into interior decorating, and not even remotely afraid of color.

Sam said, "I'm going to look around upstairs before my eyes fall out," and left the room at a slow run.

Dean pulled out the EMF. Turned it on. It didn't light up. Slapped it a couple of times, "Great. Dead battery."

~

Dean looks for some fricka fracking batteries.

What he let Sammy out of his sight! Follow Sam up the stairs.

~

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Dean shoots the lights. They're annoying.

Hands in pockets, skip down

The old metal toy gun felt worn and smooth in his hands. Heavy. Light. Right.

He took careful aim at the lights. Dean said, "Bam." and pulled the trigger. The gun splatted a short burst of energy at the lights and, where did that guy come from?

A Lurch type guy, standing by the motion sensor, said, "Thank God. You got my Morse code message. I've been trapped out of phase for years. Now, reverse the polarity on the Interphaser and get us out of here."

"Uh, yeah, about that," said Dean.

At the same time, Sam turned away from the desk and said, "Dean?" Sam looked around. "Dean? Where are you Dean?"

The man said, "You do know how to reverse the gun's polarity right?"

Dean looked at the gun. "Sure. Why not." Looked at the man. "Dude, that was not Morse code. Try doing this." Dean flashed a quick SOS with the really wacky motion sensor.

Sam looked up at the lights. "Dean?"

Dean pulled his Leatherman out of his back pocket. "Now keep doing that while I take a look at this doohickey." He popped the metal casing apart.

He said, "The thing I've always wondered is why no one ever sinks through the floor."

~

Depending on your view of Dean:

Sob, he's stuck there forever. Oh, well, now it's the all Sammy show. The end.

Yeah, yeah, you wait. And wait. Realizing that it will take Dean awhile to reverse the polarity of a maguffin with a Leatherman, you grow impatient and head back to the beginning?

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Dean follows Sam up the stairs.

Been there, done that, bought the album, skip down

Dean looked at the dizzying array of colors and drawers.

If there were batteries here, who knew where.

Screw it.

Anyway, there was the black light. He hadn't had a chance to try it yet. A quick sweep. Someone wasn't doing much cleaning in the one-butt kitchen. Up the orange and white vine painted stairwell.

Sam called out, "Hey Dean. Come check this out."

Dean went to the room at the end of the hall.

Dean looked around the room. It was painted with archways, and every single arch was crooked. Like it was old and the supports were going to hell. Or someone had never heard of a plumb line.

Sam was standing in a walk in closet pushing back clothes. "There's something back here."

Dean spotted a long wool coat draped across a chair.

~

Dean looks in the coat pockets? There's always cool crap in pockets.

Dean checks out what's in the closet. Obligatory in the closet joke. Obligatory. You know, if Wally West's Flash was there. Anyway....

~

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Head deeper into the house

Don't read it again Sam, skip down

Sam said, "Poor sad maguffin girl number nine disappeared somewhere back this way." He pointed up a set of stairs.

The EMF was reading the whole house as undeader than disco. Dead. Undead. Dead. Undead. Dean whacked it once. Didn't really help. The needle kept ticking wildly back and forth.

They walked through a kitchen, up a low set of stairs, down a low set of stairs, around a corner, though a patio, through another set of rooms - someone sure loved little plastic aliens - the Claw! - around another corner, and...

"We're lost," said Sam.

"How do you get lost in a house. You saw it. It's not that big," said Dean.

They walked through a faded dusty parlor, through a long hallway of creepy family portraits, whose eyes seemed to follow them, down some stairs, across a room filled with metal working tools and plate armor, and...

"We're lost," said Dean.

They turned around and the room behind them wasn't the room they came in through. Nor the next room. They definitely hadn't come in through a big ass room full of dead plants. Dean would have shot out the windows, but they opened on an interior patio.

~

I'm sad to say dear reader, that Sam and Dean are wandering that house to this day. The end.

No, you'll not rest until the brothers Winchester solve the mystery. You climb back to the top of hell and then dive right back in.

~

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Search for fricka fracking batteries

A Hop, skip down, and a jump

Dean made lips of thoughtfulness. If he were a battery, where would he be?

Not in the one-butt kitchen. The refrigerator was trapped under a heavy layer of magnets and sad little strips of magnetic poetry.

Dean moved a Wall Drug magnet to look at a note on the frig. "Plankton jealous of the sea in which you swim. Buy some shrimp." Probably not a clue. He looked inside. A bowl of shrimp salad sat in solitary splendor on a shelf.

Dean snagged a shrimp and kept looking.

Checked a few drawers in the dining room. Huh, that wasn't wall paper. Someone had hand painted all those lines. On purpose. He tilted his head, was that the sigil of Arashmahar?

Nah.

Few more doors. Empty pantry. Fully stocked bar. Jackpot.

There was a flesh colored Utility room. Crappy access, and the window was for midgets.

Over the washer and dryer were a bunch of shelves covered in random piles of crap. Off to one side was a tiny little door. Above the door was a hand painted sign, "Oubliette."

~

Dean looks on the shelves covered in crap.

He goes in the Oubliette? Cuz, hey, that sounds cool.

~

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Dean turns right, to go to the bedroom where Sam is

Skip down like a gurl

Something felt off. He pulled his Glock out of his pants and walked carefully down the hall and into the bedroom. "Yeah Sam."

Dean looked around. The room was painted with archways. Every single archway was crooked. Like it was old and the supports were going to hell. Dude, learn to use a plumb line.

Sam was standing in a closet door. Sam glanced at the gun and said, "I think there's something at the back of the closet.

The EMF was going nuts.

Yeah, this was a great idea.

Hi, ho. Into the closet they go.

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They go to Death Guild.

Skip down tonight

They parked on a dark city street. Then ended up parking again. The street cleaners came by at 11:00 pm and Dean wasn't about to get towed just because he was busy kicking ass or hooking up.

They walked down the dark, wet, city streets. Trash clogging gutters as cars swished by on the blacktop. Fluorescent lights flickered. If it had gotten more atmospheric, it would have had theme music.

Oh, wait. There it was.

Wasn't hard to figure out the direction to go. Just follow the stream of people in black PVC and leather.

Waited behind some sixteen year old kid. Sure you're twenty-one. The bouncer didn't think so either. Get better ID kid.

They were in and hello, goth-o-rama. Painted on leather pants swaying in this big mass on the dance floor. Dean felt like pulling out his lighter and waving it in the air.

He bought a couple of beers.

Sam said something.

"What?" said Dean.

"I said we should fup deers," yelled Sam.

"Deers?" said Dean. What?

"Up-stairs," yelled mumble-boy Sam and pointed at a giant poster of a hanged man, hanging off a balcony.

There was some sort of red light was pulsing. It could just be Gothy stuff, but you never knew. "Okay," yelled Dean.

They went up the curving stairs.

At the top, there was a hot chick wearing a black dress and a big ass plastic ring (ah, the missing Nazgurl) sitting on a couch. More importantly, there was this giant glowing red Eye sitting next to her. It rolled closer to her.

She moved away from it and said, "Get off. Eww. Stop touching me."

The Eye blinked and moved closer.

Dean said, "Uh, hey."

The chick looked at them and said, "Help. I was supposed to waltzing to Brassworks, not, eww, go away. I'm not interested. It was all a joke. I'm not your bride!"

Dean looked at the Eye. It blinked in a menacing, I have no arms, kinda way, and shone a spot light at them. Whatever.

Dean opened a clip into it, just on principle. Nothing.

The chick said, "Hello, I'm sitting right here."

Dean muttered, "Where's a volcano when you need one."

Sam pointed at something on the far balcony. A plastic volcano full of salsa. Okay, that was, okay, Giant Eye. Moving on.

Sam said, "I'll get the ring."

Dean said, "Dude, no way I'm being Samwise." There was a brief game of paper rock scissors. Dean won. Sammy always went with paper. Sammy's enormous eyes looked sad. Dean let Sammy get the ring. Sammy smiled.

Frodo hog.

The Eye blinked at them. The chick leaned away from it, "Hurry. This is like a fate worse than, ew, go away. I mean it!" She pushed at the Eye with her elbow.

They journeyed down the Forever stairs, across the dance floor of Gothyness, stopped for a beer at the bar of beeriness, made camp at an empty table, got the phone number of the woman dancing in the iron cage of iron cageyness, climbed up the other set of curly stairs of curlyness, and finally reached the flat plains of the other balcony.

The Eye blinked at them.

Sam held the ring out over the little plastic volcano oozing salsa. He said, "Dean I just want to thank you. In case we don't make it, I want you to know how much I appreciate how you've always had my back."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just drop the ring in dumbass."

The Eye blinked at them.

Sam dropped the ring in the volcano. The red salsa went blub.

Dean tried some salsa, but the Precious brand chip broke.

The Eye exploded.

The chick, now covered in Eye bits, waved at them and gave them a thumbs up.

Dean looked down at the butt to groin mass of tight leather below.

Maybe one more beer.

~~

Ah, beer, salsa, and goth chicks in PVC underwear dancing in go-go cages. Good times. The end.

But you don't even like Goth music. The music's too loud and you're getting a headache. But bravely, oh, so bravely, even though you've been hurt before, you decide to go again.

~~

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Dean turns left, against all expectations

Step to the left, Step to the right, skip down

Dean probably should go see what Sam was up to, but he was still feeling a bit miffed about Sam not eating those spaghettios when Sam was five. Dean called out, "In a minute."

Dean decided to check out the room on the left before tackling the closed door.

The room was blue. Really, really, really blue. The EMF crackled a bit at the curtained closet. He went in. You could park a car in there. A really tiny, wimpy, plastic car. From Europe. But there was something glowing at the back of the closet.

Dean pulled his Glock out of his pants, because you never knew, and pushed forward through the clothes.

There was a woosh and a swish and he could feel himself stretching, falling, something. He stumbled forward out of this big metal ring thing.

He was in this ginormous room, swarming with military types (Marines, air force, a couple of Canadians, seven foot tall dreadlocked guy, this hello babe in a halter top), who were holding lots of guns - wimpy M16s, but still, they were guns - pointed at him. Over the loudspeaker, a voice said, "Unscheduled off world activation."

A dark haired guy in an air force colonel's uniform said, "Who are you and how did you get through the force shield?"

Dean sighed. He really hated when this happened. This was going to take awhile.

There were adventures. There were wacky white dudes with bad breath. Fun with gadgets. There was a deep meaningful romance with every chick on Atlantis. Heh, Atlantis, that never got unfunny.

But in the end, McKay (and Dean would never tell the tale of their adventure with the
Niugnep people and their wacky gender swticho beam. Never! So, just don't ask. Mind you, Shepperd has the video.) managed to figure out how to reverse the who of the what of what had happened and Dean stepped back through the gate.

There was a woosh and a swish and he could feel himself stretching, falling, something.

Dean found himself driving down the highway in the Impala. Sam was sitting in the seat next to him.

Sam said, "Dean, how did you manage to get a hickey in the last five minutes? We've been driving."

Dean rubbed his neck and said, "Alien poodles falling from the sky attacked me."

Sam said, "Fine, don't tell me."

Dean shrugged and kept driving.

Sam said,"So, what do you think?"

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The Brothers Winchester go to Gaskells

Polka, Skip down, same deal

They parked in a scummy little parking lot and walked towards where Gaskells was being held.

It was easy to find, just follow the streams of people in old fashioned clothes. The brothers Winchester's suits were practically dull.

The ye olde ball was in an old Masonic temple across from an atmospheric lake. People were walking along the lake shore under the globe lights, holding hands, being gooey. You could practically hear the theme music.

No, wait, there it was.

They walked in the front door and across a fancy sort of entry way. Dean spotted a guy in a kilt chatting with a short chick in a wierdass sort of four foot wide dress.

Then they walked into the ballroom. A psychotic version of the ballroom scene in Gone with the Wind was spinning around a giant room, complete with painted ceiling and dusty old disco ball.

"Dean," said Sam.

"Yeah Sam," said Dean.

"The women are wearing corsets," said Sam.

Dean tilted his head. This was just awesome. "I noticed." Totally worth admission. Dean tilted his head the other way. Huh, so that's what they meant by heaving bosoms.

They walked over to the coat racks. Dean tried to scan the room and still keep one eye on the dance floor. Couples were just slamming around the room, spinning like tops. There was heaving.

Then the song ended and there was some sort of mumbled announcement.

All of a sudden, there were about thirty chicks, okay six, standing by the coat racks. Staring at him and Sam.

"Hi," said this chick in a black corset, "Congress?" Dean glanced at Sam. He was being cornered against the coats by this really tall flapper chick with legs up to her elbows.

A chick, wearing a window on her cleavage thing, said, "If you don't know how, I could show you." and smiled in a cat looking at fresh meat sort of way. All the women had that look.

The Mary-Sue-O-Meter in Dean's coat pocket began to vibrate.

~

Oh, no Mary Sues, Dean yells, "Run Sam."

Heh, heh, Mary Sues. Dean learns to Congress. Hey, it could, happen. Okay, it's really unlikely, but you chose it, so it's your fault.

Smile and nod, back away slowly. Dean heads for the food table.

~

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Dean volunteers to follow the drunk women.

Drink a little wine, skip down

Dean learned one thing about wine tasting really quick. Wineries have really strange architecture. After visiting some sort of a castle, a step pyramid covered in grape vines, an Assyrian temple, and something Revolutionary War, they arrived at a Greek temple.

Plus, the chicks were getting really plastered.

At Greece, they piled out of their limo and into the winery. He could see them chattering through the open windows between the cement columns.

Dean parked next to a statue of Bacchus. Dean looked up at it and said, "Dude, you trashed."

~

Should he hang out in the parking lot, low profile and all that.

Perhaps it's time to go ask some questions, what with everyone being plastered.

~

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Dean looks in the coat pockets.

Looks strangely familiar, skip down

People kept all sorts of crap in their pockets. Dean pulled out a yellowing movie stub for Mirror Mask, several ad postcards for something called Death Guild, and a folded up flyer for Ye Olde Gaskells Occasional Dance Society.

Dean said, "Hey, Nancy, stop looking at dresses and check these out."

Sam looked at the Gaskell's flyer. He said, "There's a note on the back. I think it says that the other Nazgurls will be at this Gaskells thing."

Dean took a look. The hand writing was pretty bad. He got more of a "Nike's woad at gaskets," vibe from it, but hey, Sammy was the proto-lawyer.

He looked back at the Death Guild postcard. There was a symbol of a hanged man in one corner. There was a Death Guild tonight. He said, "I kind a like the sound of Death Guild. Goth chicks. Leather. Wacky magic. We should check it out."

~

They go to Death Guild and check out babes of leather.

Go to Gaskells and er, try to pump the Nazgurls for information.

~

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Oh, no! Mary Sues. Dean yells, "Run Sam!"

Red rover, red rover, skip down and over

He'd built the Mary-Sue-O-Meter for moments like this. Dean yelled "Run Sam!" and like a mother who is wakened by the noise and sees beside her the flames kindled and catches up her child and flies, and more concerned for him than herself, does not stay, even to put on a shift. Wait, no, that's Virgil carrying Dante away from the Malebranche demons in the Canto XXIII of Inferno. Never mind.

They just ran for it.

Ran from the Mary Sues with their rabid grasping plots. Ran from the building and into the night. Didn't turn at the lake with its odd ripples. Didn't stop until they came to the Impala.

~

Defeated, they head back to the motel.

Motel? Everyone knows that research is best done in a bar.

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Everyone knows that research is best done in a bar.

What again! Skip it.

They went back to the hotel, and then walked to the bar just down the street.

Wait, no, not a bar, a pub. Definitely, a pub. Guinness, Harp and Strong Bow cider on tap. Irish flag on the wall. Little counter for pub grub. Pub.

They claimed a table by the back wall. Sam, of course, spread out paperwork on the tiny, greasy, damp table, while Dean went to get them some drinks. The bartender was cute. Pierced tongue, barbed wire tats on her arms, olive green tank, inappropriately short Catholic school girl skirt, pink and purple hair cute.

He was in the process of comparing scars when they came.

At first Dean didn't notice. After all a red flannel plaid shirt isn't that odd. Or even a pair of green plaid pants. But when the man in the red plaid shirt, green plaid kilt, and blue plaid golfing cap came in, Dean noticed all right. The colors were painful.

But Dean was made of stern stuff, he turned away from the door, smiled at the bartender, and showed her his powder burns. Home made gunpowder is sometimes a tricky business, but how else are you going to make holy hand grenades? The ones from Antioch cost a fortune.

It was only as he was getting the bartender's phone number that he saw her come in. Her. She. The source of all this.

Plaid hat, plaid bows in her hair, plaid shirt with clashing plaid vest and unbuttoned to reveal her plaid bra, plaid pants with plaid patches slung low on the hips to display her plaid thong, mismatched plaid socks and shoes, plaid backpack, and little plaids painted on her nails. As if by some secret signal, the Irish band that had been quietly assembling on the little pub stage began to play.

Dean turned wildly towards Sammy. Tried to push his way through the crowd of Irish dancers busily doing a reel on the cement dance floor, but it was already too late.

Sammy, oh, poor Sammy, so industriously looking over newspapers and pouring through Dad's journal, he had become entirely plaid. Even his hair. His poor uncombed hair. A bright and cheery yellow plaid. Except for the bits that were black with red plaid, green with pink plaid, and damn, orange and purple plaid.

Manly tears suppressed, but they were on the inside, (oh, yes, dear reader, on the inside) Dean carried his plaidified brother from the bar.

He was still holding him and patting the side of his orange plaid face, when the bartender came out.

She said, "Your friend okay? Dude, I like thought you knew, you gotta wear a little plaid to keep the tartan crud from taking over.

Dean said, "Sammy's my responsibility. I saved him from a fire when he was just a baby, and...if I'd known he was going to go plaid, I never would have left him alone." Dean shook his head, and tried to keep his cool. There had to be something. A witch doctor? A Shaman. A deal with hell itself?

"Nah," said the bartender, "You just need some punk." She pulled a mix tape out of a pocket on her thigh high boots. "Totally fresh. Angry, pissed off guys that play community centers for fourteen year olds and do recordings in their soundproofed garages. Disfranchised chicks that upload their stuff for free. Music that defenestrates. Antiestalishmentarian all the way." (Legal Requirement: This fanfic does not mean to imply or impugn that seeing, listening to or otherwise being exposed to Irish music will turn you plaid, or that Irish Music is any way establishmentarian.)

Dean took the tape in an almost trembling hand, but he knew that he had to keep it together, or the Mary Sues would find them. Sammy was depending on him. Dean said, "I don't know how to thank you."

The bartender clicked her pierced tongue against her teeth, "I get off at 11:00 p of m tomorrow. You can thank me then, cuz seeing as you haven't gone all plaid, I'm kinda curious. Boxers or briefs?" She winked at him and went back into the bar.

Dean put Sammy in the Impala and just drove around the local highways for hours. Windows rolled down, music blaring. As the sun rose, the plaid finally receded from Sammy's face.

Dean stopped for gas, donuts, and coffee.

Sammy closed his eyes and drank. Chewed on his donut and breathed out. Said, "Thanks man."

Dean glanced at Sam and then glanced away. Dean said, "Yeah, well, it's not like I could leave you plaid. It'd be embarrassing."

Sammy looked at Dean. Nodded. (for he understood dear reader, oh, yes, he understood, but the understanding, it was on the inside. On the inside.) Sam said, "So, now what?"

Dean said, "We didn't get anywhere at Nine's house. I say we check out the place where she disappeared.

Sam said, "Sounds good. After another cup of coffee.

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Dean opens the closed door

Skip, skip, skip down

Dean called out, "Sam, the EMF's loosing it's lunch over here."

Sam came back down the hall, looked at the EMF, and went to get the shotgun. Good boy.

Dean held the EMF in one hand and opened the door slowly with the other, being careful to stay low and out of Sam's range of fire.

The door swung open.

A dead chick was sitting in a chair next to a sewing machine. She was reading some sort of romance novel.

She looked up and said, "Oh, am I on? Sorry. I lost track. Just let me clock in." She put a piece of paper in her book and went over to this clock at knee level on the cloud painted wall. She picked up a long strip of paper and stuck it in the clock. There was a loud punch noise.

The dead chick coughed into her hand. Did some stretches and then rapidly turned and moaned, "Blood on the fabric. Wooooh. She got blood on the fabric. Woooh."

Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes. This had to be the lamest ghost ever.

Sam shot the ghost full of rock salt. She dissipated whimpering, reappeared briefly to grab her book, and was gone.

They walked forward. There was a tiny red tag on the rusty old sewing machine. It read, "This Serger is CURSTED (the ghost had problems spelling). Whatever you DO, DON"T bLed on fabriK."

Sam said, "It's normally not this easy."

Dean said, "Works for me."

A quick smash (in the painted fireplace downstairs) and torch later, and they were back on the road.

As they drove away, Dean looked at the passing trees. Now if he could just figure out why it looked so familiar.

It was really bugging him.

~

Isn't it satisfying when a mystery is solved this easily. The end.

Actually that ghost was kind of lame. You want something cooler. You want, the sun, the moon, the stars, a toasted bagel with cream cheese. So you reach out for that brass ring and you go again.

~

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They go back to the Motel

Turn around, skip down

Their evening had been kind of a bust.

Now the totem supporting the t.v. was staring at Dean. Big red and black and purple eyes staring at him.

Sam was tapping away on the laptop. He said, "I've been looking through the lj of the second woman who disappeared."

"What second woman?" said Dean, turning away from the unholy totem. Dean narrowed his eyes. "What thread are you on?"

Sam said, "Which thread are you on?"

"Good question. You were saying," said Dean, casually going over to the totem to give it a visit from Mr. Salt Circle and Dr. Holy Water.

"Tomorrow all the remaining Nazgurls will be going wine tasting." Sam tweaked the shirt wrapped around the Totem lamp (yes, he's shirtless, didn't I mention that before. Well, he is. They both are. Why not? Squee as preferences dictate.) and said, "Except for number four. She's going hiking. Something's targeting these women. We need to figure out what it is and stop it."

"Two women? And how do we know that they're still going wine tasting?" said Dean.

"Actually, three, no" Sam clutched his forehead, "four women. Five women. Okay, maybe four. It's hard to keep track. I had a vision of cheese and baby quiche while you were covering the totem under the table. They're still going."

Dean shook his head. Poor baby quiche, squished flat by the plot. He wished he had a baby quiche right then. "Sounds like we're going to have to split up."

~~

Dean volunteers to follow the drunk women.

Ew wine! Dean volunteers to follow the hiker. Bet she's limber.

~~

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They go to Afters

Yada, yada, skip down

There were baby quiche arranged on trays. And champagne. And oalloliberry brandy, whatever that was, other than tasty. The Nazgurl throwing the shindig brought out this tray of warm brie with honey on it. Even Sam looked interested.

Dean said, around a baby quiche, "So, you were saying?"

The Nazgurl said, "Oh, I need to go make more baby quiche. I'll be right back." She ran off before he could ask for some more of those turnover things. The table was already groaning with food. Dean could graze forever and maybe finally overcome the memory of his hungry childhood, which if Dean were into chick flick moments would have meant he'd be holding back a sob right then, but instead he chatted up the next Nazgurl.

She said, "Yeah, we all volunteer together at the Planetarium. If you want, I could take you there and show you the velcro room. Both of you." The Nazgurl licked her lips.

There was a scream from the kitchen.

They ran the two steps into the kitchen. There was a tray of mini quiche. But no Nazgurl.

The Planetarium Nazgurl said, "Damn, now there's only five Nazgurl left at the party. What good are five Nazgurls. And for what, some baby quiche!"

~

They stay at the party and try to protect the buffet table.

They head off to the planetarium. Velcro!.

~

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Dean goes into the winery, time to ask more questions

Skip down

He lounged against a wall of nick knacks.

One of the women loudly whispered to another woman, "Look! It's one of the cute new guys from last night."

The other woman loudly whispered, "Yo, hello. Let's invite him to join us."

~

Dean lets several attractive drunk women ply him with alcohol.

Dean doesn't actually want to drink wine. He goes back out.

~

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Heh, heh, Mary Sue. Dean does some congress

Skip down

Dean looked at Sam. On one hand, guys don't dance. On the other hand, he'd created the Mary-Sue-O-Meter for just this kind of thing. Plus, Dean had never seen cleavage that was so, corsets huh. Sam'd never let him live it down, but whatever.

How hard could it be?

Dean said, "Sure." In the background, Sam snickered. Dean ignored him.

The chick said, "First, do you know how to waltz?"

Dean looked at her. Waltz? Yeah, in an alternate dimension maybe.

The chick said, "Ah, okay. Cool. Not a problem." She pushed a button on her watch and time stopped. Literally. Everyone was frozen.

"You just stopped time," said Dean. Sam was just standing there. If only Dean had a felt pen. He looked at the chick.

She said, "Oh, don't worry, they'll be fine. I have the power of Mary Sue Nazgurl. I just needed more time to teach you to waltz." She took a deep breath. It was like her chest had no where to go but up. Corsets are the best. She pulled an iPod out of a fold in her dress. She said, "So, what's your favorite band?"

Dean waved his hand in front of Sam's face. He said, "Metallica."

The chick said, "Oh, perfect." She clicked the iPod and 'Nothing Else Matters' started playing out of her butt. She said, "Yes, I've got speakers in my bustle. I've always wanted my own soundtrack. Anyway, this song is in three part time, which makes it a waltz. Now, put you're hands here and here and..." (we'll skip the dance lesson. Suffice to say, Dean quickly learned that many metal songs were three part melody's and you really could dance to them.)

Then Mary Sue Nazgurl turned time and the band back on. Everyone started dancing. Since by now, Dean was practically a heavy metal Fred Astaire, no problem. They started to dance and he said, "So, I heard about the chick who disappeared. Weird huh?"

Mary Sue Nazgurl accidentally brushed her watch, stopped time, restarted it, and said, "Yeah. We're really bummed. There are supposed to be nine of us."

"Yeah, but before she disappeared, did you notice anything?" said Dean. Then the music changed and everyone stopped.

The chick said, "And now you'll see why this is called the gunna get lucky dance." Three minutes, two arm twisty things, one butt grab as she walked behind him, another butt grab as she walked behind him again, and one other arm twisty thing and Dean decided that Congress wasn't so bad. However, business was business. "So, you were there when the other Nazgurl disappeared?"

The music went back to the waltzy bit. "Yeah. It was terrible. She bled on the fabric. So, you coming to Afters? Maybe you could be part of my out of bodice experience." She winked. Ah, Mary Sues, always so obvious. Dean loved that about them.

"Afters?" Dean grinned across the floor at Sam, who was still standing by the coat racks, surrounded by Nazgurls.

The chick reached into her cleavage and pulled out a piece of paper. Tucked it into his coat pocket on a spin and said, "You should come. All the other Nazgurls will be there, well, the one's that haven't disappeared yet. It'll be fun."

They were about to go into another twisty arm thing, when there was a scream from outside the room.

Sam ran towards the door.

Dean said, "See you at Afters." and ran after Sam. Actually, more like a stroll given the distances involved.

Sam said, "Enjoy your waltz?"

Dean said, "Hot chick feeling me up. Yes, I did. Checked your pockets yet?"

Sam said, "No. Why?"

"Nothing," said Dean.

Several women were milling around the door to the women's bathroom.

One woman said, "There was a flash of light, and she was gone. I saw her disappear. But that's just not possible."

Dean walked up to the women and flashed a badge at random. "Excuse me ladies, is there a problem?"

The women turned to him, they were the women from the coat rack. A woman said, "Yes, our friend. She just disappeared. Only five Nazgurl's at the ball. What good is that." She shook her head, "Go see for yourself. But I don't know is why Fish and Game would be interested."

Dean looked at the door where no man had gone before and went in. Okay, men had been here before. There were still some in there helping women into corsets. That looked like it hurt.

There was a sulfur smell, but no woman in a black dress.

Sam said, "There must be something about these women."

Dean looked at Sam. "Really Sherlock, what makes you think that."

Sam said, "I mean other than the outfits. We should go back to the hotel and do some research."

Dean pulled out the white piece of paper from his coat pocket.

~

They go to Afters. Sounds like fun.

They go back to the hotel? All totems, all the time.

~

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Sam saves Dean

Skip down

(What you picked that option. But there was wrapping paper and ribbons. Ah, I see, not your thing. Oh, well. I suppose I should write something then.)

(Um, so, yeah, sorry you just took me by surprise,) which is how Dean felt when he woke up tied to a old, old, vine zinfandel (err, he knew because it had a sign - give me a moment, I'm still trying to come up with something.)

He hated when that happened.

He looked around. The dead and wine stained body of Nazgurl one was tied to a vine trellis down the row from him. A really rubbery decapitated head was lying on the ground next to him. Dean said, "Great Dean, just great." He tried to reach the knife in his boot. His legs just didn't bend that way, and this wasn't the first time he'd tried.

The head said, "You really don't have time anyway," the sound of drunken giggling drifted through the vineyard. "The Maenads are coming. They're going to sacrifice you to the god of the vineyard." (Yes, I know, come on this whole thing is derivative, anyway).

Dean said, "Uhhh?"

The head said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm a talking head. Orpheus. You may have heard of me. I'm the famous guest visitor that all the spoilers have been talking about."

"A talking head," said Dean. "That's all we could afford."

"Hey, I'm a classic man. I've jammed with Sirens." said Orpheus. The sound of giggling got closer. The leaves rustled. Dean tried to wrench his hands out of the knots. A dark figure came out of the next row.

Sam said, "Wow, Orpheus. I've got all your albums. Or I did until my apartment was tragically destroyed. Jess. Mom. My Orpheus CDs. I will have revenge. Oh, hi Dean."

"Dude, you listen to Orpheus?" said Dean.

"He's better than Styx," said Sam.

"Is not," said Dean

"Is too," said Sam.

Orpheus said, "Um, you might want to stop talking and try to escape."

"Right." Sam cut Dean free from the really old zinfandel vine. As Dean stood up, a really drunk guy lurched around the vines. It was the statue. Dean was really not surprised.

Orpheus said, "Run, it's Bacchus." Bacchus stumbled forward, tripped over a twig and fell to the ground, where he started to giggle.

"Right, we'll get right on that," said Dean.

"Dude, he's wasted," Sam laughed.

Bacchus said, "I'm only tipsy. Now stay right there. I'm going drunk you for viney goodness." He struggled to his feet and clutched a wooden stake for support.

The brothers Winchester went back to the Impala, got some lighter fluid, wandered around for about twenty minutes looking for the old vine. "It's this way." "No Dude, we turned left at the Chardonnay." "Where are we?" "Bleah. These grapes taste terrible." and so on. When they reached the old, old vine, Bacchus had moved forward five steps and pulled a skin of wine from somewhere.

They set fire to the old, old Zinfandel vines. Bacchus paused his drinking to briefly vomit and then he disappeared,

The brothers walked out of the vineyard.

Sam said, "So Dean what are you going to do now that we just killed the god of drunkenness."

"Mr. two beer karaoke, the god of tequila is still alive and well," said Dean.

~

Margaritas for everyone! The end?

But shouldn't that have been Dionysus? Dionysian rites, and naked orgies, and killing people who see your super secret rites? And orgies! Wait no,
Euripides' play The Bacchae, read a book. Argh. Confused and more than a little disappointed, you begin the long hard route back to the beginning.


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Head off to the planetarium. Velcro!

Skip down

They parked next to a vista. The moon was being atmospheric. Shining down on the parking lot, the Metalli-err-Impala's hood, the little grassy knoll next to the Planetarium.

The Nazgurl glanced back at them and smiled in the shadow the building. Jiggled some keys and they were in. Good thing she was a Mary Sue, or she might have asked more questions.

Sam said, "So, what department do you volunteer in?"

Dean said, "Where's the Velcro room?"

Alas there would be no visit to the Velcro room. A beam of light shot down the hall and hit the Nazgurl. She shimmered and was gone, scattering all over the hallway. Dean hated when that happened.

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. Pulled out their guns out of their pants and walked softly over to the door where the light had come from.

An Einstein type was cackling over a series of bubbling green beakers, foaming red jars, sparking metal machines, and cool, a Jacob's ladder.

"It's a mad scientist?" said Sam.

"Kinda random," said Dean.

The old man pulled out a purple and green ray gun and said, "You'll never stop me. In a few moments, I'll be done with my Minionator and I'll control the world." The old man laughed and tightened a couple screws with tiny hex wrench.

Dean said, "What I don't get is why they always add the red button." He stepped forward and pushed the big shiny red button with the sign that said, "Don't push me."

"I know," said Sam, as the machinery disintegrated into a whirl of electric energy, sucking the mad scientist into the dimension where mad scientists and lost socks go. "You'd think at least one of them would read the Evil Overlord list."

Dean looked at the plans for the Minionator. "Hmm." He had read the Evil Overlord's list, as well as both dungeons. He folded up the plans to add to his collection and followed his brother back out to the Impala.

~

Yes, Sam and Dean do prove to be excellent and benign evil overlords. The end.

Wanting something a little less minionated, you decide to climb back up that Jacob's ladder. Owe! That hurt, but you forge on.

~

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Follow cemetery picnic

Here again? Skip down

"You have a favorite cemetery?" said Sam.

"Doesn't everyone?" said a chick in black fluff dress.

Dean said, "Yeah, we can tag along."

They followed the caravan of cars up to an old style cemetery on a hill.

There was a crowd of people (wow, that was a lot of black) in old fashioned clothes. They were all gathered in front of a decrepit old crypt. Okay, now they were piling into the crypt for an amusing photo shoot.

Yeah, that's a great idea.

~

It's been awhile since they've burned something, research who's buried there.

Join the picnic. There might be baby quiche!

~

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Guard the buffet.

Skip down

Dean stared down at the tray of baby quiche. He reached out for one, when he noticed the pattern on the tray. The little baby quiche spelled out, "It's me!"

He said, "I think the Nazgurl became an appetizer."

"Hmm," they said. Stared down at the tray. Looked at each other. Glanced around the kitchen. Looked at each other again.

They put the tray in the refrigerator.

Then the Nazgurl came back in the room. She was holding a shoe. She said, "Where's the quiche?"

Dean shrugged. Sam looked guilty.

Dean said, "We heard a scream."

The Nazgurl said, "Yeah, I saw a spider. So I went to get a shoe."

Dean looked around. There, on the wall, was a big ass black spider with big long hairy legs and he knew it was looking at him. "Ugh," he said.

The Nazgurl quickly killed the spider.

Sam leaned over to Dean and said, "You're a big strong demon hunter.

Dean said, "I kill supernatural things, not spiders.

Sam laughed.

They stuck around for the rest of evening, but other than learning that oalolliberry brandy packs a surprising punch, nothing else happened.

Dean woke up in the car wearing his sunglasses. Sam was in the back seat sleeping.

For some reason, Sam was wearing his underwear outside of his slacks and had brie smeared all over his face.

There was a knock on the window.

It was a Nazgurl. Dean opened the door. The Nazgurl sobbed, "Quick, get the car started. They're coming."

Overhead, an alien vessel sort of whirled around, grabbing people with its tentacles. While below an army of zombies lurched down the street mumbling, "Brains." An old guy, clearly a mad scientist, ran down the street zapping people and yelling, "Minionate this!" A female ghost was milling around saying, "But I thought this was a ghost story." The Necronomicon was flying around. It kept running into the space ship. That was one drunk book. A wedding party of Nazgouls pulling a black chariot with Sauron and a Nazgurl flew across the sky. The just married sign dangled limply. The Nazgurl called out, "I'm cool." The Giant Rat of Sumatra ran from shadow to shadow, but was quickly eaten by the zombies. Poor plaguey giant Rat of Sumatra. And down the street, Dean could see Cthulu tossing plastic swan boats around.

Dean pulled the Nazgurl into the car and gunned the engine. This is what the Impala was made to do and it knew it. He rammed the zombies and the evil scientist, Sam was too hung over to notice. Although, Sam did manage to grab the scientist's ray gun to shoot the alien ship, which fell to the ground, the minionated aliens came out, but quickly caught colds and died. Too bad, but at least there was a space ship. Sam zapped Cthulu and yelled, "You're very sleepy." Cthulu put on a sleeping cap and went to sleep wrapped around a large sign that said, "There."

The ghost said, "But what about me. If you don't take me out, will I still get paid?"

Dean said, "We'll burn your body later." Mmmm, burning things. Maybe this time they should use explosives. Home made explosives with chemicals that end in -ate.

The ghost said, "And I'll get paid?"

Dean said, "The check's in the mail."

"Okay." and the ghost disappeared.

Meanwhile, Sam was running around with a butterfly net trying to catch the Necronomicon, which flew out over a lake and drowned. Great. No good could come from reading the Necronomicon, but did Sammy ever listen. No, it was all books are good and tell you stuff and; anyway, all in all, it was an incredibly poorly written scene. I mean what kind of action sequence was this.

The Nazgurl sobbed, "I just couldn't take it any more. When I started this. I had no idea how many options there would be. But there were nine of us and I wanted us to all die different ways, and now I'm the only one left and I couldn't, I couldn't, it was terrible." Sam patted her shoulder and offered her some brie.

~

Mmmm...Sam warmed brie. It really is the wonder cheese. The end.

What other options? You came straight here? What a gyp. Clenching your hands into fists, you decide to fight your way back to the beginning.

~

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Dean decided to hang back in the parking lot.

Can't wait? Skip down

After, a moment, he was glad he'd followed his instincts. A sobbing chick in a black dress ran across the parking lot clutching a big ugly-ass book.

Dean glanced at the wall of windows into the tasting room. The remaining two Nazgurls were having a real good time. They weren't going anywhere soon.

He followed the chick across the parking lot.

She cut through the vineyards and into an old cemetery on a hillside.

Chick. Ugly-Ass book. Cemetery. Not good.

She was reading out loud. A lot.

"Crap," said Dean. He ran and tackled the chick, but it was too late. She'd already raised the dead. Hands started bursting through the loose soil. "Great. Why'd you raise the dead?"

The chick was sobbing, "I was just trying to bring them back. I have to get them back. We're no good if there's only three of us. And who knows if four will come back from her hike. She's probably dead!" The Nazgurl started bawl.

The dead clawed out of their graves, which given their state of decay was pretty impressive. Dead kicked a zombie in the head.

"Brains," it said, as it rolled down the hill.

Dean grabbed the chick's hand. "Come on."

She wrenched herself away from him. "No, we have to bring them back." Predictably, a zombie bit her on the leg. She said, "Okay, we can go now." and started out of the cemetery.

Dean looked right. Dean looked left. No Sam. Yeah, but Sam'd probably know through his psychic friends network if Dean killed the proto-zombie chick. Hey, maybe these were non-zombifying brain eating zombies. It could happen. In a completely different type of story.

As they came out of the cemetery gate, Dean ran into Sam. Literally. Dean got up and said, "Zombies."

Sam dusted himself off and said, "Yeah, I had a vision." He smiled at the chick and made a vague gesture with his machete. "Hi, is that the Necronomicon."

"Um, yeah." said the chick.

Dean shook his head. "Dude, how many times do I have to tell you." Dean hit a zombie with a stick. "The Necronomicon is bad shit." and rolled the zombie down the hill.

"Um," said the chick.

"But it could explain everything," said Sam, decapitating a zombie with his machete.

"Um," said the chick.

Dean pegged a zombie between the eyes with a rock. "Explain how to go crazy."

"Um....Zombies," said the chick.

Sam said, "We should probably talk about this later."

They strolled briskly away from the undead.

Zombies are dead, so they're kind a slow.

Dean opened the trunk of the Impala. Decisions. Decisions. Go with the classic. He pulled out a shotgun and cracked it. "Shot Smart. Shop S Mart."

Sam went for an AK-47 (you know they have one somewhere), which came highly recommended in the 'Zombie Survival Handbook.' Dad had made them memorize it. Much more useful than reading some book about the Hardy Boys.

A cop car pulled up. Just when things were getting interesting.

"Put the guns down," said Red shirt police officer number one.

Red shirt police officer walked around the car.

~

Do they run? Improbable, but there might be jumping over fences, cool back ground music, that kind a thing

Running's for losers. Dean gets a glint in his eye, a smirk on his lips, and bluffs like hell.

~

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Been awhile since they've burned something. Research.

Can't wait? Skip down

The chick at the front desk was helpful. Very helpful.

In the front seat of the Impala of audience benefit exposition, Sam and Dean poured over piles of paper.

Dean said, "The chick who disappeared was here the day before researching locations."

Sam looking at a sheet of paper, said, "According to their records, Mordecai Methusalah Zachariah Nimrod Shadrack Meshack Abendigo Smith was violently opposed to cameras."

"That's kind a weak." said Dean, while he got out the lighter fluid. It'd been days since he'd gotten to burn a corpse and he was really beginning to get the shakes.

"Do you really care?" said Sam, getting out his own favorite brand of corpse accelerant. He was getting that After School Special look on his face. Sam said, "When I went to Stanford, I thought I'd finally left this life. Put the cravings for salt and smoke behind me. I've been clean and sober for two years man. But now I've been sucked right back in." Sam shook his head. "I blame dad. Always throwing rock salt around in front of us. Bringing us on his corpse burning benders. "

"Dude, don't ever blame dad. He did what he had to do," said Dean. He didn't want to have this conversation. He wanted to be burning the undead. "Come on."

That night, the brothers burned Mordecai Methusalah Zachariah Nimrod Shadrack Meshack Abendigo Smith together. Stood in the crypt and inhaled the rush of smoke. Felt the satisfying crunch of salt under their feet.

It felt good.

But the cravings would be back by next week.

Fortunately, there was always something to burn.

~

You sit and sob at your computer. Poor sad addicted brothers Winchester. The end.

Well, er, hmmm. Huh. Okay. Um, yeah, so, that might not actually have resolved the problem. Half the time it doesn't. Longing for something with substance in your life, but not substance abuse, knowing that your karma is good, you go again.

~

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They run for it.

Aye Caramba, again? Skip down

Explaining the whole zombie thing never went over well.

Dean nodded at Sam.

For some reason, instead of getting into the Impala, which they were standing right next to, they ran out across the vineyard, scaled an improbably located fence, three wooden styles, tip toed through a barnyard (moo), took out a few alarm systems, climbed another fence and were back in the vineyard parking lot as the sounds of 'My Little Runaway' faded in the background.

The two red shirt cops were a zombie main course. Poor tragic red shirted cops, they never had a chance.

Dean shot the zombies climbing through the broken winery windows. Seriously, why would you build something like that? It practically asked for zombies to show up.

From the scattered furniture, it looked like the people were holed up in the back of the building.

Sam pounded on a large wooden door and yelled, "Hey let us in."

"How do we know you're not zombies that want to eat our brains." said a woman's voice.

"Because I can say something other than brains." said Sam.

There was a brief conversation and the door opened.

A Nazgurl turned to a random chick, as they closed the door, "I told you they were cute."

The random chick smiled at Sam. "Just in case, you should take off your clothes. So, we can check for zombie bites." Dean's Mary-Sue-O-Meter vibrated in his jeans. Excellent, another Mary Sue.

At the same time the Nazgurl said, "Since this is clearly an end of the world thing and we're all gunna die, wanna have sex?" She pointed at several large barrels. "Plenty of wine."

"Err," said Sam. "We're not going to die."

"Dude, the answer is yes, but we're not going to die." said Dean. "Now where's the chick with the book?"

"Oh three, we had to throw her in a steel vat of Pinot Gris," said the Nazgurl, "She became a zombie and ate one, which is a shame. Now there's only me. What kind of theme costume only has one person? If I'd known, I wouldn't have, well, anyway, she's back there."

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

Sam said, "Hey, you're the one who wanted to sleep with them."

"Can we focus on the zombie right now," said Dean.

They went deeper into the cave. No escape route, but pretty secure. They climbed up the ladder on the side of a metal tank. The zombie Nazgurl was standing in the clear fluid. She looked up at them and waved her arms. She gurgled, "Brains."

The Necronomicon was floating in there with her.

That was one drunk book. It was sort of wobbling around and running into walls. They hooked it out with a long hook thing.

The Necronomicon burped.

Sam grinned at Dean.

Dean said, "Fine read the evil book, try not to go nuts."

A couple minutes later the groaning for brains had stopped, Sam was staring mournfully at the Necronomicon, currently singing, "4 million, three hundred thousand, and four shoggoths devouring your soul. Take one out, shake it out, 4 millions, three hundreds thousands and threes shoggoths devouring your soul."

Dean said, "We are not putting that thing in the car. It stinks and it's drunk. I don't even want to think what it might throw up in the trunk."

Sam straightened up. "Hey, at least we get to burn something."

The brothers smiled at each other. The job does have its perks. Sweet, hot, burning, salty perks.

~

Ah, the smell of burning Necronomicon in the late afternoon. It smells like victory. The end.

Oh, come on. The Necronomicon could drink down a vat of Pinot Gris, Gewurtztraminer, and late harvest Zinfandel, and still have room for the angel's portion of a barrel of brandy. In search of evil books with a higher alcohol tolerance, you go again.

~

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They join the picnic

Aye Caramba, again? Skip down

Mmm....baby quiche.

Dean popped another baby quiche in his mouth and smiled at the veiled Nazgurl.

Sam said, "Did you notice anything strange when poor sad little Nazgurl number nine disappeared?"

Behind Sam, Dean could see several other Nazgurl's climbing on top of a grave to drape themselves around a statue of the Archangel Gabriel, blowing on its trumpet. One Nazgurl was just preparing to menace the angel with a parasol, when she disappeared in a flash of light.

The veiled Nazgurl screamed, "Eeep! Now there are only seven. Seven Nazgurls on a crypt." A Nazgurl fell off the crypt.

Dean flashed, hopefully, the same badge as earlier and said, "Everyone off the crypt."

The veiled Nazgurl said, "But I'm not wearing a bikini," and wandered off with the rest of the crowd to do a photo shoot on Millionaire's row (crypts with a view).

Dean grabbed a crab cake and ran the EMF over the crypt. Sam came over. Dean said, "I got nothing. It's as dead as whoever's in there."

Sam shook his head. "She just disappeared right in front of us. Like she never even existed." Sam got the hair shirt and ashes look. "I just want to live a normal life, but..."

Dean considered his options.

~

He could make a flippant comment.

He could get all emo for no particular reason.

~

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Dean follows the hiker. She looked limber.

Skip down

The trail was practically straight up and clearly this chick was part mountain goat. Dean scrambled up the trail after her.

Fortunately, she kept stopping to sniff flowers and look at the waterfalls along the side of the trail, or Dean might have lost her somewhere in the giant ferns and redwoods.

After seeing one too many giant banana slugs, they finally reached the top of the trail and came to an open wild flower meadow.

The Nazgurl shouted, "Yeah!" she turned and grinned at Dean as he climbed over a fallen tree limb. "Isn't this hike the best?"

"The best," wheezed Dean. It wasn't that he wasn't in shape. He was in damn good shape for a guy who spent all day in a car. It was just that his pack had a lot of crap in it. He adjusted the straps.

The girl was still nodding when a round whirly alien space ship flew over the meadow. There was a beam of light and the chick was a big pile of dust.

Dean ducked back into the brush and pulled out a sawed off shot gun. Didn't even phase it. It just seemed to absorb the shot and keep humming. It tried to grab him with these long tentacle arm things. Whatever.

Whack with the machete.

Rife. Molotov cocktail. Holy hand grenade. Ground to air missile. Nothing. His pack was running out of options.

So, he decided to get medieval on their asses. Pulled out a dead sacred cow and a trebuchet, catapults are for wimps, out of his pack. He almost hadn't brought them. That sacred cow was damn heavy. He fired the sacred cow at the ship.

The ship absorbed sacred cow with a burp. Dean smiled and said, "Let's see how you like them disease ridden apples."

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the ship keeled over on its side and crashed into the charred and burnt meadow. A pasty green alien crawled its ugly ass self out the ship. Dean unloaded a clip into its sorry alien ass for good measure.

He looked around the meadow. Looked at the space ship. His pile of stuff. He really didn't want to haul all that crap down the hillside.

He grinned at the space ship. "Couldn't be that hard," he said.

~

Secure in the knowledge that Dean will learn to drive an alien space ship in about five minutes (well based on movies, it's not that hard), but discard it because the Impala is his one true love. The end.

You're thinking, huh? Aliens. That's so, well, that's just not Supernatural. You spin the wheel and go again.

~

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Dean shoots the book. It's fugly.



Skip down

The old metal gun felt worn and smooth in his hands. Heavy. Light. Right.

Sam was staring down at the book. Dean grinned, aimed and shot. The gun spat a pulse of light and the book screamed and started flying around the room.

In Dean's experience, it wasn't good when books started flying around the room.

Sam was just standing there, mumbling, "Unknowable, unnamable horrors. Stygian blackness." Great. Just great Sammy. Dean fired another shot at the book. Missed. Disintegrated the pinata though.

"In Rilea, he lies dreaming. Dreaming!" muttered Sam, worrying at his hair. Not that you could tell.

Dean threw a metal dragon to the left of the book and then fired to the right. The book burst into flames, but kept flying around. Dean hated when that happened. Shot it again and it finally fell down. He whacked at it a few times with the remains of half an umbrella.

The book was ashes, but Sammy was still muttering. Dean said, "Hey Sammy. Sammy." he clicked his fingers under Sammy's face. Nothing. "Sorry Sammy." Dean decked Sam.

Sam lay on the floor fingering the blood on his chin. "What'd you do that for?" He saw the burnt remains of the book on the floor. "What did you do that for? That was the Necronomicon. It could have answered all our questions. About what killed mom. What killed Jess. Everything!"

"Dude. How many times do I have to tell you, don't read the Necronomicon. That's pure craziness," said Dean. The lights went out.

Dean waved his arms. The lights came back on. He shot the gun at the lights, because they really were annoying, but it just fizzled. Out of juice. He put it back on the shelf.

There was the closed door on the left with the faint thumping noise and an open stairway to another level on the right.

"So, genius," said Dean. "Now what?"

~

They look in the door on the left.

Head up the stairs deeper into the house.

~

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Dean goes into the Oubliette

Skip down

Ouuubliettte. It just sounded cool. Dean flipped the little latch and opened the tiny little door and went in.

Came out again.

He'd been looking for something hadn't he?

Oh, he knew.

Batteries.

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Break in. It's like Mission Impossible. Only not.

Skip down

The door had an impressive array of locks, but they were no match for Dean's lock picks.

The front room was a treasure trove of dusty, discarded garbage. The shelves were packed with little figurines and yellowed books and, the lights went out.

Dean turned around. The lights came back on.

Dean looked up the short stairway to the next room. Looked like it led to the kitchen.

The lights went out.

Dean waved his arms.

The lights came back on.

Sam knelt by the spot where poor sad little nine had been sitting. Dean continued looking at the shelves.

The lights went out.

Sam stood up. The lights came back on.

There was a thump behind the closed door left of the stairwell.

The lights went out.

Sam waved his arms and said, "That's annoying."

Dean said, "I think they're motion sensitive." He pointed at a little laser eye doohickey. "And yeah, it is annoying."

Sam went over to a roller desk under the remains of a yellow and pink swan pinata hanging from the ceiling.

Dean went to take a closer look at the display of toy ray guns. A shiny metal one with red and green buttons seemed to say pick me up.

He did.

Sam said, "I don't believe it!" Dean looked over at him. Sam was looking at a dusty leather book.

Then the lights went out.

Dean waved his arms. The lights came back on.

~

Dean puts down the toy and they check out what's behind the closed door on the left.

Dean puts down the toy and they go deeper into the house.

Dean shoots the book with the toy ray gun. It's fugly.

Shoots the lights. They're annoying.

~

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Dean looks on the shelves

Skip down

The shelves looked pretty likely. Sure enough, in a wicker basket, on top of another wicker basket, under a paper bag, there was a packet of batteries.

He popped in the batteries and turned on the EMF. It glowed to happy, happy, joy, joy life. "Now that's more like it."

He scanned the downstairs, while humming how everyone loves a log. It's big, it's happy, it's wood.

Nothing downstairs.

Dean started up the insane white vine stairwell. It was like climbing up a giant square pumpkin. With white vines.

The EMF started to crackle just as Dean reached the head of the stairs. It was coming from the door straight ahead.

From a bedroom down the hall, Sam called out, "Hey, Dean come look at this." Didn't sound urgent, but you never knew.

~

Dean turns right, to go to the bedroom where Sam is.

Dean opens the closed door

Dean goes into the bedroom on the left, just to be random

~

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Dean beams in via special delivery.

Okay, that's it. The rest is up to you. Since I'm sure you just want him to oh, set your TIVO and give your car a tune up, well, that would be kind of boring wouldn't it.

Or, alternatively, my keyboard would melt, given what some of you were thinking.

Or you could just start over. Not as exciting, I know. But it's better than doing real work.

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Enter the brothers Winchester

Skip down

"Fabric what?" said Dean. He glanced at Sam.

Sam said, "The witnesses said it was a fabric related injury."

"How do you have a fabric related injury?" said Dean. "Was it cursed fabric?"

"It's possible." said Sam. He peered at the laptop, which for some reason had perfect WiFi access.

Dean pulled off the off ramp into a suburb of Townsville. Not the one where the Powerpuff Girl's live. The other one.

The houses and streets looked strangely familiar, but Dean couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Sam said, "Man, have we been here before?"

"Dude, I was about to ask the same thing.?" Dean narrowed his eyes and looked at the leafy streets. It all seemed just like some place he'd seen last week and the week before that and the week before that.

Whatever.

Dean pulled into the driveway of the Totem Motel, All Totems, All the Time, Yes, We have Lots of Vacancies. Plus, free cable and a sauna.

Sam said, "We should check out the place where the last person disappeared. There may be some traces or something."

Dean said, " We should visit her (alas, poor nameless maguffin girl nine) house to see if there are any clues there."

~

Do they go to the house where Sauron's ninth bride (poor tragic maguffin) disappeared?

Do they visit her house, sad, sad woman, but at least nine is a significant number?

Do they visit the hotel's sauna for, um, research?

~

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Hi, ho. Into the closet they go.

Skip down

Dean said, "I'll go first." He slipped by Sam and went into the walk in closet. It was wall to wall dresses and coats. They were densest in the corner and there was a glimmer of something. An odd smell of pine. A draft of cold.

Dean pushed aside the coats. It was deeper than you'd expect. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Sam following him.

Beneath his feet, the floor changed. Got uneven. The coats weren't coats.

They were in the middle of a pine forest. The ground was covered in snow and Sam's hair looked like a pine cone had exploded. There was no sign of the closet. Man, Dean hated when that happened.

There was a slight cracking noise. Dean spun around, Glock at 75 degrees. There was this little half goat guy standing by a lit lamp post. The goat guy was holding an umbrella. The goat guy said, "Good evening. Good Evening. I don't want to be inquisitive, but should I be right in thinking that you are sons of Adam." The little goat guy clip clopped forward, pulled out a handkerchief, and began sobbing as if his heart would break. He said, "It's no good. I'm such a bad Faun."

Sam patted the faun on the shoulder, but the faun would not be comforted. He said, "I am such a bad faun. I must turn you over to the White Witch, she who makes it eternally winter and never Christmas. If I do not, she'll have my tail cut off and my horns sawn off, and my beard plucked out, and she'll wave her wand over my beautiful cloven hooves and turn them into horrid solid hooves like a wretched horse's. Whatever shall I do? For now that I've met you and know what humans are like, I just cannot do it. I cannot."

Dean looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged and pulled out a Beretta. "As long as we're here."

Dean turned back to the faun. "Evil Queen problems, huh." He always had wanted to kick her icy white ass.

Now then dear children, as you may know, Sam and Dean had many wondrous adventures, which we do not have time for here.

But suffice to say, that they met talking animals and fought wolves and finally met Father Christmas, who gave them each wondrous gifts. A magic shotgun, with an ever renewing supply of salt for Dean and a cross bow ("I told you bow hunting was more useful than soccer") for Sam, and a tiny flask of holy water besides (Tasted good too, for in Narnia holy things were also tasty things). They met Aslan, the son of the emperor beyond the sea, and there was a Christ metaphor (although, given both brothers kept trying to die to save the other, it is a bit hard to work out how), and Druidic metaphors, and a feast with Bachuus, who was a jolly fellow indeed. Dean got along great with the Maenads. Finally, after a battle and some visions and some deep, deep, really deep magic, they blew away the evil Queen and got to be kings of Narnia.

Years, later, while riding to the hunt (for as kings of Narnia they had learned to ride, but they were still ever so fond of hunting), they came upon the lamp post. In the distance, King Dean the Hot could see a sort of glimmer.

King Sam the Cute dismounted from his horse and said, "We shouldeth goeth looketh at thateth" (for as kings of Narnia they had grown accustomed to speaking as the Narnians did)

King Dean the Hot dismounted and said, "Ya think Sherlock." (or not).

They pushed their way through the trees and there was a spin and a dizzy, and Dean found himself driving down the highway in the Impala. Sam was sitting in the seat next to him.

Dean said, "Why are there pine needles in your hair?"

Sam pulled a pine cone out of his hair and looked at it. "Huh," he said.

Sam looked back down at the laptop. "For some reason, I keep thinking it was a fabric related accident."

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Dean makes a flippant comment.

Skip down

(insert flippant comment of your choice here. It should be laconic as a Spartan, funny as a really funny thing, and embody the ever loving spirit of sarcasm.)

Dean smirked at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

There was a strange dying washing machine sort of noise and a blue police box appeared next to the crypt.

A tall, thin, obviously post traumatic stress syndromy guy and a pretty girl got out of the box. They were holding hands and her head was on his shoulder.

The man looked around and said, "Fantastic. There's been some sort of time space distortion right on that crypt."

The girl stepped away from the man and said, "Doctor, this doesn't look like the New York World's Fair. I really wanted cotton candy." She spotted Sam and Dean standing by the crypt. "Oh, hello." She turned to the Doctor (Doctor What?) and said, "Can I have them instead?"

Not that Dean minded, but what?

The Doctor said, "Of course, Rose. You know I can't deny you anything."

Just then, an evil Einstein sort of guy ran across the cemetery waving this purple and green toy gun. The Doctor said, "Oh, there's your problem. Rose, I'll be just a minute. Why don't you go introduce yourself to your new boyfriends."

The Doctor yelled, "Oy!" and ran after psycho Einstein, although maybe he was more of a Tesla.

Rose walked over to them and said, "Hey."

Dean said, "Hey."

Even Sam, despite his (indeterminate period of time) mourning for Jess, said, "Hey."

Dean said, "So, where's your boyfriend off to?" Subtle eh?

Rose said, "He's not my boyfriend. I don't know why everyone thinks he's my boyfriend. We're not involved or nothing."

"It could be the part where you were holding hands," said Dean.

Sam elbowed him.

Rose said, "So, ya want to check out the TARDIS while we wait for the Doctor? It can travel anywhere in space and time. It's pretty flash, although not that Spock."

Sam said, "Time huh." and got a sad, sad look on his face. "We could save mom. Or Jess. Or Mom and Jess. Or Jess and then Mom."

"Nah," said Rose, "Trust me, it's a naff idea. Giant bacteria things show up and eat all life on Earth."

Dean could tell that Sam didn't quite believe her. On the other hand, if Rose wanted them to come with her, it wasn't like they had any free will of their own.

The Doctor popped out from behind the crypt. "Right then," he said, taking Rose's hand, "Now that's all straightened out, any one up for the New York World's Fair?"

"Come on," said Rose and they followed her into the blue box.

It was much, much bigger on the inside than the out. Whatever. Dean the Impala trunk could too.

The World's Fair was pretty cool, even if it was invaded by aliens covered in purple shag carpet. Same deal with the something something nebula, only androids made out of coffee pots. However, by the time they were done with visiting the Lornan Duplex, small cute fury animals that ate your liver, the Doctor said, "You lot think guns are the answer to everything, and no, we can't visit Earth the night your mum or your girlfriend died. Do you think I don't feel bad about the death of my entire species! Do you lot think I don't want to..."

At which point Dean sort of tuned the Doctor out. Rose had her eye on some new boyfriends and it was time to go home.

They got out of the TARDIS and got into their car, but, was that really where they'd parked. Dean couldn't quite remember, well there had been that little adventure with wee little Dean and wee little Sammy, but Dean was sure it didn't matter.

He got in the car and started driving down the interstate.

Where were they headed again. Oh, yeah.

Dean pushed down on the accelerator and tapped the steering wheel to some Highway to Hell.

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Wincest Dammit!

Skip right over

(Huh, yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that. Are you sure you don't want to write it? I could put a link to you and everything. No, huh. Okay, not a problem. Um, yeah, okay.)

Getting Started

1) Lean forward at a fifty-three degree angle and interlock lips, while running fingers across the pectoral region at a forty-five degree angle until fingers come to a resting position on the fifth and seventh vertebrae at the back of the torso.

2) Jerk back in a rapid motion, look down with eyes widened at full extension, and Angst.

Note: Prolonged Angst will result in the following comment, "For 'expletive deleted's' sake, just 'expletive delete' me already."

3) Smile, laugh, interlock lips again.

Note: Take care to continuously breath in Oxygen through nose, or there may be giddyness and a loss of consciousness. It is also important to periodically take breaks to hydrate. This is a sauna.

Leveraging Foreplay

4) Unlock lips and push forwards with the palms against shoulders until brother Winchester reclines at a one hundred and sixty-three degree angle against the wall.

Note: At irregular intervals, switch between angst, sexually explicit language, and indications of a pleasurable response.

Implementing Sex

5) Apply magically appearing lubricant to relevant anatomy.

6) Insert said anatomy into orifice of choice.

Note: The ear is not an appropriate orifice for this particularly activity. See section on ear wax removal.

9) Move in a repetitive motion, until process complete.

Note: At this time, it is likely, the ten minute buzzer will ring.

Concluding process


10) Shower before reapplying clothes.

As they left Dean said, "Dude, um, that was..."

Sam said, "It was the steam. Obviously there was something in the steam."

Dean said, "Yeah, the steam. It was, um, cursed. Boring cursed steam. I expected more from a motel with totem in the name."

Sam shrugged, "So, next fic?"

Dean snapped up his jeans and said, "Sure. So, now what?"

~

(Err, why yes, I have been writing procedural documentation for the last several weeks. Why do you ask?)

Do they visit her house, sad, sad woman, but at least nine is a significant number?

Do they go to the house where Sauron's ninth bride (poor tragic maguffin) disappeared?

~

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The Brothers Winchester go to Gaskells

They get off the on-ramp and drive through a tiny little Chinatown. Some of the shops might be useful. If it were daytime. Right now, it's dark and all the metal grates were down. Whatever, they don't need powdered dragon tooth right now.

"We're almost there," said Sam, "Now for the fun part.

~

Assume there's parking out front.

Parking can be a bitch and the Impala isn't exactly compact.

~

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Assume there's parking out front

One small skip

The parking gods never smile, when they may mock. But they mocked the Impala at their peril. Stereo turned up, Dean drove straight ahead. There was a tiny parking area in a park across from the Masonic temple where Gaskells was in full swing. Dean turned down the tiny little street already lined with parked cars curving along the shore of an artificial lake. Hopefully, they weren't going to need to make a quick getaway.

Whatever, they could always drive over the grassy knoll. The Impala liked that idea.

Couples were walking hand in hand by the lake. Glowing lanterns. It was all very romantic. Plus, one parking spot left.

Dean carefully pulled into the spot facing out onto the lake. It felt a little Risky Business, but it was a space.

The water slapped against rows of little plastic swan boats and rippled in the moonlight.

There was a small crowd of people gathered around an SUV. The Impala's engine settled into silence, secure in the knowledge that it could eat the SUV for breakfast and still have room for steak. Really rare steak. And a beer. For breakfast.

They were drinking champagne. Dean got out of the Impala and said, "Hey."

These chicks in black velvet dresses said, "Hey. Want some champagne?"

This was the best gig ever. Dean grinned at Sam and took a little plastic glass.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Do you have water?"

One of the chicks said, "Yeah, sure" She turned to pick up a bottle of water.

From near the swan boats, there was a high pitched scream. The chick in the black velvet Marilyn dress said, "Oh, no. Not again."

There was a strong smell of fish. A really, really, strong smell of undead fish.

Dean quickly finished his little plastic glass. No need to waste it, and turned to look. That was one ug-ugly son of a bitch. A plastic swan went flying.

Sam said, "Cthulu lies sleeping in an artificial lake! In Townsville? That's just wrong."

"Tell me about it," said Dean. He looked at the Nazgurls. "You haven't been summoning ancient gods have you?"

The Nazgurls looked at one another. One Nazgurl raised her hand. Another Nazgurl hit her on the back of the head and said, "I told you not to read the Necronomicon."

"I forgot to bring a book," said the Nazgurl. "I was bored and it was there." Then a plastic swan boat hit her and she didn't have much else to say.

The chick next to Dean threw an empty bottle at Cthulu. She said, "We've already lost three Nazgurls." Good throwing arm. It hit Cthulu and kinda stuck in his squid head tentacles.

Dean said, "Stand back." The brothers Winchester ran to the trunk of the Impala. This was going to take more than handguns.

Dean smiled. He'd been hoping for an opportunity like this and pulled out some holy hand grenades.

Sam grabbed Dad's journal and flipped through the pages. He said, "What if this just pisses him off?" A bit of dock sailed through the air. "These are homemade holy hand grenades."

Dean shrugged, pulled a pin, and tossed a grenade.

Sam crouched behind the Impala's big ass useful steal frame and began to read from Dad's journal, "Tunc domno dico, praemium abduco consecro acus, Tum tres numerabis, Non ultra, non intra."

There was an explosion. Dean yelled, "Keep reading."

Sam said, stumbling over the sad, sad, translation, "Tres erit numerus quem numerabis, et numerus numerationis erit tres. Quattuor non erit numerus quem numerabis, Duo non erit numerus quem numerabis, Quinque prorsus vitandum est."

Dean lobbed two more holy hand grenades in quick succession at Cthulu. Boom. Boom.

Sam was almost weeping at the mal conjugation, "Semel numerus tres, est tertius numerus, capessivi, numerabis, eiaculor consecro Hand Grenade Antioch appulsus hostis, persona improbus vidi domno, praemorior."

Splat.

Sam and Dean peered over the Impala. A chunk of charred squid was sizzling on the hood of the Impala. There bits of Cthulu everywhere. Mmm, calamari.

Sam said, "Dean don't eat Cthulu. You don't know where he's been.

Point taken.

Sam snapped Dad's journal shut and said, "I can't believe that worked." He walked over to the water's edge. "Dean, is the water supposed to be purple?"

Dean filled another little plastic cup with champagne. He said, "Could be the turkey worming crystals. Lots of oxygen. Gives the explosion extra power and kills worms." He nodded his head and drank his champagne. He said, "These cups don't really hold much do they?"

~

Always so satisfying to destroy ancient gods with home made explosives. The end.

Wait a minute. That makes no sense. You were hoping for something a little less, I don't know, not that. That was just disappointing. You slump disconsolately, a tiny tear (just one) sparkling at the edge of your eye, and like the brave little soldier that you are, you try again.

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What there's nothing left. Well, unless you loop back up.