A G.E.D.

74 Godiva - Saturday Afternoon

Sat, 07 Dec 2024 19:33:31 GMT

First: All of Dean’s flannel shirts were gone.

Gone.

He could put up with a lot. Tiny horses? Fine. Ponies in sweaters? Whatever. Marzipan rain? Weird, but survivable. But this? This was a step too far. A man’s flannel was sacred. It was his armor.

Eventually, he found a sweater stuffed in the back he could live with even though it belonged at a holiday party hosted by Crowley.

Second: Jane was still a cat. And was shedding like crazy.

Dean held up the vacuum cleaner canister, now a grim testament to his suffering. “Do you know I’ve vacuumed twice today? Twice.” He jabbed a finger toward a hair tumbleweed in the corner. “And look at that! I cleaned it up five minutes ago.”

If Jane could shrug, she would’ve. Instead, she rolled over, exposing her belly in a shameless ploy for attention.

Dean groaned. “I swear, if you don’t turn back soon, I’m buying stock in lint rollers. I’ll make millions.” He grabbed the vacuum again, muttering under his breath as he went to war with the growing endless pile of cat hair.

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Thursday Evening - 70 Godiva Place

Thu, 28 Nov 2024 05:25:30 GMT

The plan was for Dean to have his first Thanksgiving in his own house since he was a kid. A nice, quiet holiday with real home-cooked food. Which probably would’ve gone better if he’d thought to test the kitchen range oven before he tried to cook a turkey in it.

Or, you know, if he’d remembered to defrost the bird all the way before shoving it in there.

Turns out the oven thermostat was a bit off. And by “a bit,” it meant that setting it to 350 basically translated to “incinerate.”

So now Thanksgiving dinner was Chinese takeout and three different JGOB pies—pumpkin, pecan, and apple. Not exactly traditional, but hey, food’s food.

Dean popped a piece of General Tso's into his mouth, glanced at the spread on the table, and shrugged.

“Still better than most Thanksgivings I’ve had.”

(for the guest and extreme slow play)

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MHA 19 - Monday Morning

Mon, 11 Nov 2024 13:51:11 GMT

When Dean woke up this morning he had still been a dog. However the time change was a horrible things that dogs never understand for weeks so Dean the dog had gotten up early and done a big stretch only to find himself human once again and strangely craving a rawhide chew.

With limited clothing options available Dean somehow only had the outfit he wore to the Halloween party the other week. So dressing back up in the red shorts and white polo shirt of a gym teacher, Dean quietly moved out of the bedroom and started making coffee, pancakes and bacon for the lady still asleep in the bedroom.

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Midnight Manor 1B - Friday Morning

Fri, 18 Oct 2024 13:00:11 GMT

Dean stood in the middle of his room, taking in the stuff that had piled up over the last seven months on the island. In his old life, everything he owned could fit in a duffel bag and the trunk of the Impala, no problem. But now, looking around, he realized moving from Midnight to his new place on Godiva Street wasn't going to be as simple as throwing a bag over his shoulder.

Now there were boxes. Just two, sure, but that was already more than he was used to hauling around. He'd had a similar setup at the bunker, but that was different. It was a base of operations and a place you recovered between hunts.

He'd spent more time in this room than he had on the road these past months. Met his neighbors. Shared meals. Burned a bunch of mutant french fries that came to life. And it hit him that this room wasn’t just a pit stop anymore.

Without any tape to seal the boxes, he folded in the flaps, tucking them in so they stayed shut. He slid the boxes out the door into the landing, then paused, giving the room one last once-over to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind.

He stood there for a moment longer than he meant to, then let out a breath and said, almost awkwardly, "Thanks, Midnight."

And yeah, that felt weird. He shrugged then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

[Last post in Midnight before officially moving to Godiva. Feel free to catch him on the way out]

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Journal Entry: Dear Sam

Sun, 13 Oct 2024 17:08:06 GMT

( Dear Bitch )

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74 Godiva Street - Saturday Afternoon

Sun, 13 Oct 2024 03:47:50 GMT

With the roof done, Dean was now tackling the front door. He’d thought it was going to be a quick swap-out, but when he pulled the frame off, he noticed the header was shot. What should’ve been a half-day job turned into a full-blown project with multiple trips to the hardware store.

As he was shimming the new door into place, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to check which one it was: just the one labeled "FBI." He didn’t bother looking at the number. One of these days, he'd learn that was a bad habit.

He answered in his usual style, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking."

The voice on the other end was anything but friendly. "Yeah, right. Who is this?"

( It doesn’t have to be parents weekend for family to show up and make trouble. )

Dean groaned and looked back at his door that he was working on… If he could have, he would have stopped for the day. But job wasn’t done so with another sigh he went back to work.

[NFI]

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The roof of 74 Godiva Street - All Day

Fri, 11 Oct 2024 15:36:57 GMT

Turns out, buying a house on this island’s like picking up a loaf of bread—quick and easy, especially when the place’s sitting empty. Thanks to a bank account Bobby set up back in the day, Dean didn’t even have to blink at the cost. Paid in cash, deed in his name. Just like that.

But the house itself? Yeah, that’s a different story. Roof was a mess, shingles needed to be ripped off and redone. Good thing it wasn’t anything too complicated, just a straightforward roof line. Dean made quick work of stripping the old shingles, laying down new underlayment, and now he was up there, hammering in the fresh ones with a nail gun, trying to finish the job before nightfall.

Of course, that didn’t mean the world stopped turning. Calls kept coming in, hunters needing advice. And because Dean’s not about to use some pretentious wireless earbuds, he had to stop nailing every time his phone buzzed.

"Yeah, Tommy, sounds like you’ve got yourself a Rakshasa problem," Dean said, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder while wiping sweat off his brow. "Tricky sons of bitches. They read your mind, shapeshift into folks you trust. Basically, they’re a nightmare in fur. Here’s the deal, you need a weapon made of brass. Not iron, not silver. And not just any brass, it’s gotta be blessed. Holy water, prayer, the whole nine yards. Got it? And no, don’t even think about using brass-plated crap. Real brass, or you’re wasting your time."

He paused, listening for a second, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Venmo me, Tommy. Now stop talking. I got to get to work."

Dean took a deep breath, wiping his face with the end of his t-shirt. He took a moment to enjoy the crisp air before diving back into the job. Just him, a roof, and a nail gun, one shingle at a time.

[open]

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Outside 74 Godiva - Wednesday Morning

Wed, 09 Oct 2024 12:06:32 GMT

After visiting Arden, Dean had returned to his room at the manor for about ten minutes before he started to feel restless. His room was covered in books and the walls just felt like they were closing in on him.

So he threw on his goat and started a slow walk around the island. He hadn’t gone far when the house on the corner caught his eye. It wasn’t much to look at. It clearly had not been lived in for years. There were weeds in the yard and garden beds. The front door needed replacing and the roof definitely needed some work.

The longer he looked at it the more work he saw needed to be done on it. It was a project. A big one.

But after years of living in hotel rooms, nights sleeping in the Impala, and months staying at the manor… somehow a project like this didn’t seem daunting.

Maybe it was what Bobby said on Sunday or maybe Dean just realized it right now. Maybe it was time for him to have a home.

So Dean was going to stand there for while thinking it all through.

[Open]

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Late Sunday Evening - Midnight, Montana

Sun, 06 Oct 2024 16:26:06 GMT

Dean’s boots crunched over the loose gravel as he made his way through the quarry in Midnight, Montana. His flashlight cut through the darkness, barely illuminating the tunnel below. The place was a mess of twists and turns—perfect for the Minotaur to hide and pick off any unlucky hiker dumb enough to wander in.

( A labyrinth. And not the fun David Bowie kind )

[NFB due to distance. Open for calls, texts, etc.]

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Journal Entry: Dear Sam

Wed, 11 Sep 2024 19:56:39 GMT

( Dear Sam )

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Midnight Manor 1B - Monday afternoon into evening

Mon, 02 Sep 2024 16:55:38 GMT

Dean had meant to spend the day checking the newsfeeds for anything crazy out there that needed to be taken care. But instead, Dean was taking phone calls.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking. Agents Bing and Tribbiani? Yes, they're some of my best agents.”

And more phone calls.

"Health Department, Mike Bloomfield speaking. Inspector Buffay? Yes. One of our best."

And more phone calls.

"Yeah, Ronny, that sounds like an Ōkami. Do you have an Bamboo Dagger Blessed by a Shintō Priest? No? Uhhhh. Maybe a woodchipper, I hear that works. No problem. Venmo? No, I don't have one."

Clearly the number of "Jim Hetfield" was getting around.

[Post open. Door closed]

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Balsam Mountains, North Carolina - Wee hours of Tuesday Morning

Tue, 27 Aug 2024 12:36:43 GMT

Dean had come across some strange stories in his time, but the tale of the Boojum was one of the oddest. He’d been passing through a quiet town deep in the Appalachian Mountains when he overheard some locals at the bar talking about it: a hairy, humanoid creature that supposedly lived in the mountains with a treasure hoard. It sounded like the kind of tall tale you’d hear after a few too many drinks, but there was something in the way the locals spoke that made Dean pay attention.

The stories were all over the place—some said the Boojum was a lost miner, others claimed it was a spirit, and a few even swore it was just a bear that had learned to walk on two legs. But there was one common thread: people had been going missing in the woods, and that was enough for Dean to check it out.

( Say it with me: Boojum )

[NFB. Open for calls, texts, etc.]

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Auburn, Kentucky: Monday Morning

Mon, 26 Aug 2024 14:44:23 GMT

Dean sat in a corner booth at Earl’s Kountry Cafe, quietly eating his breakfast. The place had that familiar, worn-in feel—faded yellow walls, a few crooked pictures of horses, and cracked vinyl seats that had seen better days. The coffee was hot and bitter, the kind you drank more out of habit than for any real enjoyment. But it was quiet, and that was enough for now.

( No monsters. Just quiet contemplation )

[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, etc.]

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Hannibal Missouri - Sunday Evening

Sun, 25 Aug 2024 11:48:02 GMT

Before Dean even got close to Hannibal, Missouri, he “borrowed” a pickup truck and put on the ugly magical costume jewelry Wanda gave him just in case he ran into anyone who might recognize him. Too many people knew he was alive now. He needed to keep that down to just the two.

When he found Aiden at the hotel, the kid was too freaked out to be any help. So Dean told him to sit tight, and he’d handle it.

( Of course it was an abandoned warehouse... )

[NFB]

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Saturday Evening - Somewhere in Nebraska

Sat, 24 Aug 2024 13:33:30 GMT

Dean stood at the edge of the cornfield, the charred remains of the Cornfield Stalker smoldering behind him. The moonlight cut through the cloud cover, casting a glow over the vast expanse of stalks that swayed in the night breeze.

( The monster of the day and a phone call... )

[NFB. Open for texts, calls, pizza delivery, pie, etc.]

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Journal Entry: Dear Sam

Fri, 23 Aug 2024 12:51:55 GMT

Dear Sammy,

Saw you today. And Dean Jr. I know I should've stayed away, but I just had to see you.

I told the astrophysicist how I feel. Probably screwed that up. She’s not where I am, and I get it. You can’t force someone to feel something they don’t. But after ten years of not admitting how I felt for another person I'm okay with it.

Right after, though, I needed to talk to someone. I needed you. But you don’t even know I’m alive.

So I found some cases. Mostly just excuses to drag me back to Kansas. Thought maybe catching a glimpse of you would be enough.

But it just pissed me off.

I’m glad you’re out of the life. I'm really glad you’ve got the family you always wanted.

But I know that’s not in the cards for me. Only one of us gets to have the apple pie life. And watching you with your kid, chasing him around the park? Yeah, that pushed me over the edge.

Cas showed up, saved me from doing something stupid. Guess that’s his job now, since you can’t.

I hate that I can’t talk to you. I hate that you’re not here to tell me it’ll be okay. I hate that you’re not around so I can tell you about her.

(She's amazing, Sammy. I wish you could meet her.)

But most of all, I hate that you got the happy ending, and I’m stuck figuring out how to keep going without you.

It sucks, man. But I don’t know any other way to deal.

I miss having you in the passenger seat.

-Dean

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Lawrence, Kansas - Friday Afternoon

Fri, 23 Aug 2024 12:38:36 GMT

The case in Kansas was a bust. No ghosts. No demons. Nothing. Dean could’ve called for a portal back to the island, but instead, he just kept driving.

He could’ve pretended he had a destination in mind, and if anyone asked if this was his plan all along, he’d deny it. He’d be wrong, but he’d still deny it.

He was careful. He stopped in Eudora, found a safe spot for the Impala, and then “borrowed” a Honda Civic to take him the rest of the way to Lawrence. Before he even started the car, he slipped on the ugly necklace he’d bought from Wanda—the one that changed his appearance so he’d look like someone else.

Then he drove straight to Lawrence. He shouldn’t be here. Just months ago he promised he wouldn’t go near Sam.

But stalking him from a distance? That wasn’t breaking his promise, right? Just bending it.

( Hello, Dean. )

[NFB. Open to texts, phone calls, etc.]

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Thursday Evening - Payson, Arizona

Thu, 22 Aug 2024 10:46:59 GMT

The moon hung over the dense woods surrounding Payson, casting long shadows across the landscape. The rustling of leaves was the only sound breaking the stillness. Dean Winchester stood in the clearing, his breath coming in slow, measured bursts after a grueling fight with the werewolf. The body lay motionless, its threat extinguished. Dean wiped the blood and sweat from his face, surveying the scene with a distant, almost indifferent gaze.

He looked down at his hands and saw the blood, quickly checking over the wounds he’d received. The worst was a scratch on his shoulder and along his ribcage. No bite marks.

As he finished making sure there were no other wounds, a faint, unsettling sound caught his attention: the sharp grinding and clanking of metal. He turned to see the clockwork droid emerging from the shadows. The droid was in shambles from the encounters over the last two days, moving with a disturbing, jagged gait.

( No. Seriously. Thanks Liliana. )

[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, robocalls, spam, etc.]

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Wednesday Evening - Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Wed, 21 Aug 2024 10:40:54 GMT

Dean leaned back against the Impala, as he tried to shake off the exhaustion from the fight. The dzoavits had been a tough bastard—strong, relentless, and a whole lot of ugly. But it was dead now, reduced to a pile of bloody mess somewhere deep in the Jackson Hole area.

He dug out his flask out of his jacket pocket, taking a long swig. He was about to take another when he heard a noise—a faint, mechanical whirring that set him on edge. Dean's hand instinctively went to his sidearm, but before he could even pull it, he saw it: the clockwork droid, striding out of the darkness like something out of a nightmare.

( Son of a bitch! )

[NFB. Open for calls, texts, blah, blah, blah]

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Tuesday Evening - Bonners Ferry, Idaho

Tue, 20 Aug 2024 12:47:10 GMT

It had been a long couple of days. The portal to Idaho had a connecting portal with a layover in New Hampshire of all places. (Why did a portal business need connecting portals let alone layovers?) By the time he got to Bonners Ferry, he had lost most of the day. Talking to the local police was worthless as they didn’t even bother to consider the exploding hearts as anything but a metaphor. Luckily the coroner was able to give some details but it was a lot of slogging through old microfiche copies of the local newspapers and articles about potato crops before he could find anything worthwhile.

Dean now stood in front of the freshly dug grave before him, the rotten stench of decay wafting up from the coffin below. He grimaced but not because of the smell. This whole digging things up gig used to be easier.

He poured the salt over the skeletal body barely paying attention to the task. The ritual was second nature. Salt the bones, burn the remains, send the ghost packing. Simple, clean, done. The only difference here was the creepy ass clockwork droid lying next to the grave that Dean had picked up at the Consortium. Something that was going into the pit as soon as the fire was lit.

Dean uncapped the kerosene, his movements methodical, almost detached, as he doused the bones. He reached into his jacket pocket for a match when a noise—a subtle whirring, like gears grinding together—caught his attention. He turned and looked at the creepy droid lying next to the grave whose eyes were now glowing an unnatural red.

( Son of a bitch! )

[NFB. Open for phone calls, texts, etc.]

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Journal Entry: Dear Sam

Sun, 18 Aug 2024 18:24:08 GMT

( Dear Sammy )

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Midnight Manor 1B - Saturday Evening

Sat, 17 Aug 2024 23:39:48 GMT

Another day, another day stuck in front of the computer as Dean went through his daily news feed of the weird and unnatural stuff that could be just weird or something “weird” that Dean had to deal with.

Maybe it was because he was distracted by a certain article (“Small town shocked by death of exploding heart of beloved friend”) that he didn’t look too closely at the phone that was ringing. It was the old number of Bobby’s that Dean had given to Krissy the other week in case she needed backup from the local sheriff’s department.

So, he didn’t even look at the caller ID when he picked up the phone. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking.”

( He really should have looked at the caller ID )

When he hung up, he let out a long sigh. It felt so good to talk to Jody, but there was now one more person out there who knew he was alive.

“Yeah, that’s not going to bite me in the ass,” Dean said aloud to himself before turning back to his research.

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MHA 19 - Friday Morning

Fri, 16 Aug 2024 11:19:22 GMT

When Dean woke up this morning he had still been a dog. A dog sho had quietly hopped down from the bed he had been sleeping on to do one of those big stretches with his butt in the air that dogs were known to do.

And that’s when he turned back into a human being. Naked. In a freaking yoga pose.

“Son of a bitch.”

Quietly, so as not to wake Jane, he scrounged up some clothes of his that he must have left behind when he transformed and got dressed. Since things were a bit hazy in memory Dean went into the kitchen to listen to past radio podcasts (“Roadside attractions? Son of a bitch.”) and then started making breakfast.

Look, Jane got forced to take care of Dean all week as a dog. At the very least she deserves pancakes, eggs and bacon.

[For the astrophysicist/God of Thunder]

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Journal Entry: Dear Sam

Mon, 05 Aug 2024 15:08:07 GMT

( Dear Sammy )

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Winterset, Iowa - Sunday Morning - 1:00 AM

Sun, 04 Aug 2024 17:00:05 GMT

In the wee hours of the morning in Winterset, IA, Dean headed to the cornfield where all the bodies had been found. The key here was to find the unmarked grave of the lynched farmer before dawn and also not get killed in the process. But as he was loading up his gear from the car (Salt, crowbar, shotgun with rocksalt, more salt, kerosene, etc) there was a the sound of a “Thwump” and when Dean looked up he saw fire and smoke, not too far away from his location.

( Creeping towards the fire… )

[NFI & NFB]

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