The impala had been parked outside the Baltimore town house for ten minutes, but neither brother was making a move to get out of the car. Mainly, because their case was ridiculous.

'This is ridiculous,' said Sam, for the twelfth time in the past fourteen minutes. 'This is officially the most ridiculous case I've ever heard of.'

'Well, there was this one case in the Men of Letters' archives,' said Dean thoughtfully, 'About this possessed refrigerator in Denver. It started consuming the souls of anyone who opened the freezer draw.'

'I never saw that,' Sam frowned.

Dean looked at him. 'That's because I filed it in the folder marked 'bullshit'.' He tugged his collar into position, and swung open the impala door. 'Come on, let's get this over with.'

'So what were we going to tell the people who live here?' Sam said as they walked up the garden path.

Dean shrugged and started unwrapping a fast-food box. 'That their microwave is demanding child sacrifices. Because it is. Duh.' He gave the door knocker a sharp rap.

'Dean, we can't just announce to them that their household appliances have been stuck by demonic possession,' Sam ran a hand through his hair, 'And is now really an appropriate time for pie?'

'There is never an inappropriate time for pie,' said Dean darkly, taking a large bite.

A woman appeared in the doorway. Her blonde hair was damp and she was wrapped in a dressing gown. For a moment she stood, mouth open, hands round the doorframe. Sam and Dean stared back, Dean poised mid chew.

'Um, hey,' said Sam. 'I'm Fred and this is George. We're from mechanical maintenance, and we heard you were having problems with your microw-'

'Oh my god, a moose!' the woman shrieked. 'Get it out of my house!'

Grabbing a lamp from a table by the door, she launched herself at Sam and began to beat him about the head.

'Get back to Canada you filthy great animal!'

'Why does everyone always think I'm an - ow – get off! Dean, get her off me!'

'Nope, this is way too funny,' Dean said, chewing on another mouthful of apple and blackberry. 'Actually, I'm gonna pray Cas up so he can watch too.'

'What?' said Cas, appearing beside him.

The woman gave a shriek of alarm at the angel's sudden appearance, and started to attack all three men at once.

Dean had his pie knocked from his hand, and stared at the sludgy pile of pastry on the floor. 'Oh,' he said sadly.

Cas was backhanded with the lamp shade and ate a mouthful of frilly tassels. 'Urgh,' he spluttered. 'I hate human furnishings.'

'Okay, okay!' Sam cowered, hands over his head, 'We're not from mechanical maintenance. We're hunters – supernatural hunters. We're here because we think your microwave may be evil.' He sniffled. 'Just please stop hurting me.'

'You're the Winchesters?' the woman put down her lamp and opened the door wider. 'Why didn't you just say so? I'm Stacey Saunders. Come right on in.'

Cas and Sam edged round her as Dean desperately scraped the remnants of his pie from the sidewalk.

'I understand that the previous owner of this house disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and ever since you moved in, the microwave has been acting suspiciously?' said Sam.

'I only moved in this month,' Stacey nodded. 'The man I bought it from – a doctor – he promised me everything was in order. But he disappeared after I signed the papers, and then instead of making popcorn, my microwave ate six children this last week. It's an outrage.'

'Where's the microwave?' said Dean.

The boys followed the direction of Stacey's finger pointed down the hall. 'Get your damn quadripedal under control!' she yelled after them. 'It's stomping mud all over my carpet!'

A minute later, and all four were stood in the kitchen, around what appeared to be a rather innocuous microwave sat on a fake granite counter. There was a protracted silence.

'I'm not really sensing any evil vibes here,' said Dean eventually. 'Cas, you sensing any evil vibes?'

'Um,' said Cas, 'Plastic. I can sense plastic.'

Dean flicked the microwave with holy water. Nothing. Salt and iron – still nothing.

The microwave pinged, and they all jumped.

'That's just my lasagne,' said Stacey, 'Sorry.' She removed the smoking foil container, re-closed the door, and then gasped. 'Look!' she cried, 'It's happening again. It's cannibalistic. It's demanding we feed it another child!'

She pointed at the display, which read, quite distinctly, child.

Cas looked quizzical. Sam started to chuckle.

'Stacey,' said Dean seriously, 'That's not a demand for child sacrifices. That's the display for the 'chilled' function.'

Stacey frowned. She held out the lasagne container, the cover of which was shredded, its contents entirely empty. 'Then how do explain the fact that any food I try to cook disappears?'

Dean shrugged. 'Mice.'

'I think we should probably leave,' said Sam.

'Wait!' said Stacey. 'What about the missing children, and the severed limbs and blood I keep finding inside it?'


Dean and Sam looked at each other. Wordlessly, Dean pulled out the shot gun he had mysteriously been concealing down his trousers. Cas looked impressed.

Slowly, slowly, the Winchesters bent down to be level with the machine's darkly tinted front window. The microwave stood, silent and microwave-like, making the mysterious noises that only microwaves can hear.

'Cas, be on standby to smite this thing,' Dean whispered, and Sam nodded. Cas narrowed his eyes, angel blade sliding into his hand.

'Three… two… one.' Gingerly, Sam pressed the button, and the door swung open.

'Good evening,' said the decapitated head of Hannibal Lecter. 'Feed me human flesh?'

'Okay,' said Dean, 'I know fandom crossovers get dumb, but this seriously takes the biscuit. Cas?'

'Yep,' said Cas. He smote it.