Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers up to season 8

A/N: If you're looking for great plot and character development…you should probably look elsewhere. This is mostly funny (hopefully) banter with a side of brotherly schmoop. Written for Smalltrolven during the spn_bigpretzel Spring Fic Exchange. Thank you for letting me use all your great prompts.

"A Day in the Life"

10:00 A.M.

It was strange how days off kind of snuck up on him. Logically, Dean knew every day wasn't spent fighting monsters. Sure, there were enough evil sons of bitches to quite literally keep him moving every minute of the rest of his life, and, Hell, that constant motion had been pretty friggin' exhilarating in Purgatory once he got past the mind-numbing terror and panic. And back when they were on the road, a day off the hunt meant a day driving from point A to point B, nursing a wound, replenishing the funds, or hooking up with a chick.

Funny, Dean had never expected that to change.

Dean stepped out onto the damp tile, skin still hot from the well-dubbed "awesome" shower that somehow managed to get perfect heat and pressure in this old bunker, and he mentally went over his to-do list in his head. He came up blank.

He'd spent the whole night researching a hunt he'd planned on leaving for today only to find out it had been passed on to one of Garth's hunter pals already. Kevin had no updates for them. The morning news and email check had produced nothing of importance either, so…

Bacon. Dean decided he'd cook some bacon. That could be put on a to-do list, right? Yup, he totally had plans for the day now.

He was smiling at the thought when he wrapped the belt around his robe and stepped out of the washroom, but the grin quickly vanished when he nearly ran into a fully dressed Sam who was carrying…an empty box?

Dean raised a brow. "Planning to build a fort?"

Sam stared at him blankly a moment before looking down at the box in his hand. "Uh, no. Actually I was planning on doing some cleaning."

Dean raised a hand to stop him. "Hold up, didn't we spend like an hour doing that yesterday?"

Sam grimaced. "We did no such thing, Dean. I spent about three hours working on the floor and shelves of the main room, while you developed a sudden dust allergy." He let out a short huff of breath, as if cutting himself off.

"We should hire a maid," Dean noted.

Sam let that one pass. "Anyhow, I'm not talking about the bunker. Now that we have a place to store our things, I thought I might clean out what we don't need in the Impala's trunk."

"Wait, what?" Dean frowned. "We need everything in the trunk. We already took out our clothes and essentials."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, there's no way that we actually need to use all the things in the trunk on one hunt. And there's junk back there too."

Dean pouted. He didn't mean to, but he could feel his lips drawing together without permission. "There's no junk in my baby's trunk." At Sam's raised brow, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. You wanna clean her out, I'm going with you. No way I'm letting you pick out what goes and what stays."

"Fine," Sam echoed. He plopped the box down for Dean to carry, revealing that there was a roll of garbage bags in his other hand. What the hell did he think he was doing with those? Before Dean could ask, Sam gestured for him to get a move on. "Put some pants on and let's go. I don't want this to take all day."

Dean hesitated, staring down his brother. Honestly? He hadn't expected Sam to fold to that quite so quickly. In fact, he'd kind of been hoping to get Sam pissy enough to give up on the venture. That hadn't worked as planned. Now, Dean realized he would be required to actually join in the effort. Crap.

"Uh, well…" Dean let his eyes roam until he saw the open door to one of the storage rooms, where a massive old television lay in wait. Queue light bulb. "I was going to try to fix the TV first. Might take some finagling, getting reception down here…"

Sam wasn't buying it. He glared at his brother. "Dean, we're cleaning out the trunk first. That, or I do it by myself and toss out all the stuff we don't use anymore."

"Whatever," Dean muttered. "Trunk first." Then a faint sound rang out, his ring tone, coming from the sleeping quarters. He could have sworn he didn't get any bars in there. Dean aimed for a sheepish grin, pointing a thumb in the direction of his room. "Make that phone first, then trunk."

11:00 A.M.

"…and you remember how we told Garth he could raid that one old weapons' bunker of Bobby's? The one on the edge of his property? Well, apparently Garth was in the area this morning and thought he'd take care of it." Dean ran a hand over his face, hiding his grin as he followed Sam up the few steps from the Batcave's entry and onto flat ground. "Only, uh, I kinda didn't factor in that Jody was keeping an eye on the place, and Garth didn't realize who she was when he tried to pass himself off as Bobby's nephew."

Sam glanced over his shoulder, wincing in sympathy. "Bet that didn't end well."

Dean popped his lips. "Nope. She booked him."

"Okay I get why he called, but did that conversation really have to take you an hour?" Sam paused behind the Impala, giving Dean a puzzled looked. "Wait, have we talked to Jody since…?"

Dean's smile tightened. "Uh, no. And she was not happy about that. Hence the hour."

Sam unlocked the trunk and dove right in, starting with the items that were stored above the weapons' storage. "Okay, so the box is for stuff we're taking into the bunker and the bag is for the garbage."

"Wow, thanks for breaking that down for me. Would never have figured it out on my own." Dean snorted, then watched as Sam reached for the bag, ignoring his indignant brother. "Whoa, now…What are you doing with that magazine?"

Sam pulled himself out of the trunk, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he held between two fingers the corner of an issue of Busty Asian Beauties. "Dude, this thing was Dad's. And I'm pretty sure you curled up with it like a teddy bear when you were thirteen. I barely want to touch it, much less keep it."

"Beautiful girls are still beautiful girls, Sam. Plus it'll fit in with the old collection we have down in the bunker."

Sam sighed but dropped it into the box instead of the garbage bag, letting his brother win the round. Only, Dean immediately snatched it back up, tossing it into the trunk.


"Sam!" Dean returned, abet in a nasally, mocking voice. "You can read Wuthering Heights to get yourself off, man, but I need some decent material for the road."

"That's what the internet is for!"

"We don't always have wi-fi or pay-per-view, Sammy! Sometimes we have to even sleep in the car."

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "Please tell me you're not actually looking at porn while I'm sleeping in the car beside you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I get out of the car first, hello, that's why it's in the trunk. Okay, let's just leave this beauty where it is, and we'll get back to it."

Sam covered his gag with a shrug. "Fine…" He reached back in, pulling out a stack of cassette tapes, leaving in their wake strips of broken black film. "Before you argue, these are all the ones that were warped by the sun. They're useless. We just tossed them in the back all these years. It's time they went to the big tape-deck in the sky."

Dean's mouth dropped open as he picked one tape off the top of the stack. "What are you, the least sentimental person on the planet? You bought me this one on my fifteen birthday!"

Sam raised a brow, grabbing it back out of Dean's hands and leaving his fingers tangled in the trailing spool. "I bought it for twenty-five cents at a yard sale. And you have another copy up front."

"I'm not throwing them away."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll put them in the box, then. Though, I don't know why you'd want to keep them."

Dean shrugged, a smug grin on his face. "Hey, maybe it's those Men of Letters genes in me. Looks like those guys kept a lot of old crap that wasn't 'useful' too."

"Or they all died before they had a chance to clean it out because their brother kept questioning every move they made!"

Dean's smile didn't waver. "Somebody's grumpy. Maybe your blood sugar's a little low. How about we finish this up after lunch?"

Sam glared up at him. Then his grumbling stomach cemented the victorious expression on his brother's face. "Fine. But we are finishing this today."

12:00 P.M.

"…how I feel about getting frisked by a woman in uniform, but who doesn't? So, I was wondering, you know, by the way she was talking about you guys…I was wondering if ya'll ever…you know?"

"With Sheriff Mills?" Dean blinked. "Garth, why would you even think that?" Dean made a face, then let the expression drop, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She say something about me?"

"You mean after all the cursing? Nah, not really, but I got the feeling maybe she and Sam had a past."

Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him. He ignored him, propping his feet up onto the long table next to his now empty plate, his phone pressed against his ear. "No kidding? Hold up a sec."

He cupped his hand over the phone, leaning back as if he hadn't noticed his brother until then. He waited until Sam was back to digging into his bacon cheeseburger before opening his mouth. "Hey, Sam, did you hook up with Jody during my Back to the Future audition? I won't blame you if you did."

Sam choked on his sandwich. Dean chuckled, giving Garth his attention once again. "Nah. She had a thing for Bobby, though, like I said."

"Good to hear." Garth breathed a sigh of relief. "That must be why she's giving me the look, then. It's my gruff hunter exterior that's drawing her in. It's irresistible to some women, once they've had a taste."

Dean bit down his grin. "Must be it. But didn't she tell you to get out of town and not come back?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean…Don't you see? That's just her way of trying to protect herself from another heart break." Garth paused, his voice more serious when it returned. "I understand that she's your friend, and if you want that magnificent example of a woman in her prime for yourself, I'll honor your wishes. But I'd like to ask your permission to make her my new special lady friend - don't ask about the last one. I'm still getting over it.."

Dean raised a brow. "Uh…sure?"

"I will woo her like the sun woos the flower into opening its petals. I will make her my warrior princess, my -"

"Garth," Dean interrupted, "we were going to go over the inventory from the storage bunker? Did you clean it out?"

"Oh, yeah…Forgot about that."

1:00 P.M.

"You can't know that for sure!"

"Dean, there is no way we're going to need the harpoon gun on a regular basis!" Sam tossed it into the box then shuffled in front of it, blocking Dean before he could move to grab the weapon.

"That's what you said about the grenade launcher you made me leave at Bobby's!"

Sam dove to the right, blocking Dean again. "That grenade launcher hadn't worked in seven years."

"I was gonna fix it."

"Bull!" Sam reached out blindly, pulling up the pair of nunchucks. "And these? I can't even believe Dad let you buy these."

"They're blessed."

"They're impractical!"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh, yeah, Mr. I-have-to-have-that-cool-scythe-looking-knife-that -you-can't-stab-anything-with?"

"You can decapitate with it!" Sam snapped. "Plus we lost that ages ago."

Dean scratched the back of his neck, looking into the trunk of the Impala again, but Sam caught the guilty look in his eye. "Wait…you didn't lose it, did you? You got rid of it. I can't believe you!"

"Dude, we needed a new taser, and I was all tapped out. Plus, we were fighting that week…and sci-fi geeks don't think that a 'Klaww of Death' is as stupid as it actually is. Got a decent amount for it."

"It wasn't stupid! If you want to talk about stupid, what about you insisting on having ready ammo for the Desert Eagle. Do you know how expensive that is? And you don't even use it. Why? Because it's a freakin' hand cannon."

"Sometimes we need a hand cannon. You're not retiring the Desert Eagle, Sam."

"Yes. Yes, I am. And I'm tossing the nunchucks."

Sam wasn't sure how it happened, but one minute he was moving to intercept Dean before he reached the box, the next he realized the quick shuffle had left the nunchucks in his hand swinging with momentum. The grunt of pain was confirmation that they'd made contact with a delicate area. Thirty seconds later, both Winchesters were on the pavement, wrestling for control of the storage box.

Sam found himself on his back, staring up at Dean, who'd gone eerily still as he looked past him. "Heads up. We're being watched," he said, quietly.

Sam pushed him back a bit so that they could both scramble up, standing in arm's distance of the weaponry. Further down the road, through a line of trees, sat a quaint old cottage house with a small garden to one side and an ancient Buick in its front drive. Even in the distance, they could see their neighbor well enough to note that she was an elderly woman with a humped back and a white bun atop her head.

She raised a hand, waving at the brothers, and Sam and Dean politely did the same, offering tight smiles.

"We should go inside," Sam said, through his teeth.

"Leave the nunchucks."

2:00 P.M.

Dean balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he popped open a beer. "You know, Garth, maybe she's just not a flowers and ammo kind of girl. You might have to try a bit harder."

Sam's annoyed sigh was loud, and Dean shot him a look, doing his best to imitate his brother's bitch face. Sam gestured at his computer screen, where he'd drawn up some info on their elderly neighbor. Duh, Dean mouthed.

What, did his brother really think he hadn't check her out as soon as they started using the bunker? She was a harmless old woman. And, since Dean had snuck into her house while she was gone to church and made sure the property was under the same huge ward that the bunker was under, he knew that Ophelia Griffin, age 85, was not a demon, which was a plus.

But she did make a hell of an excuse for ditching their top-side chore. Sometimes Sam was too easy.

Dean went back to the conversation at hand, ignoring Garth's comment on handcuff chaffing. "If you want to get Jody to take you seriously, here's what you gotta do, Garth…"

3:00 P.M.

"…And I don't have a Hulu account, but you can watch plenty of shows of on here for free," Sam said, setting the laptop between them. "But you can watch more full series on my Netflix account."

"You pay for this every month?" Dean asked, surprised.

"You pay for your platinum membership to bustyasianbeautiesdotcom," Sam replied.

Dean smiled, typing in his brother's information. "Actually, I pay by the year - never know when you're going to get sucked into Monster Land. Didn't I give you my sign-in info for that?"

Sam shook his head. "No. And please, don't."

He found himself looking at the mess behind them, the reason why he was currently showing Dean where to watch his shows. The old television was scattered across the floor (the floor he'd just cleaned yesterday) and was currently in about a hundred pieces. Dean, who was usually able to fix anything, hadn't been able to get it to turn on, much less pick up reception. His brother had somehow wasted an hour on the project, though.

And then Dean had talked Sam into showing him how to waste even more time. Sam frowned. That manipulative jerk… Sam could see the smile on his brother's face. He thought he'd won.

"Dude, you're 'recently watched' list includes Garfield, the movie? You do realize you have sucktacular taste in movies, right? Oh! Dr. Sexy MD…never caught up on that. Had a cliffhanger, too. I wonder if his cowboy boots really did burn up in the car accident. That would be a friggin' tragedy…"

"Dean, we have work to do first."

Dean ignored him, clicking the show open. "Granted, it was hard to catch the finale since I was, you know, in Purgatory, running for my life…But I guess I could put it off a little longer. If you want."

Sam ran a hand down his face, frustrated. "Just watch your damn show already."

Dean chuckled. "If you insist."

4:00 P.M.

"You didn't have to take the laptop away," Dean whined.

Sam shot him a deadly look, continuing up the steps to the balcony level. "Yes. I did. You were a second from clicking on the spin-off."

"Do you blame me? I mean, you saw how Dr. Sexy ended it with -" Dean was cut off by the sound of his ring tone. He pulled the phone free, giving it a glance. "Christ, I think I'm going to have to hold Garth's hand throughout this whole damn imaginary relationship of his."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Sam snapped. He grabbed the phone out of his brother's hands, jaw set in anger as he answered it. "Garth, quit calling! We have things to do today, Dean's busy, and I can't draw you a map into Jody's pants, so you're going to figure the way out on your own!"

Dean took a step back at the high pitched sound coming from the other end of the phone, and Sam gave him a horrified look before opening his mouth again. "H-hi, Sheriff Mills. Uh, sorry - yes, I, uh, I didn't mean…" He pulled the phone away from his ear, holding it out to Dean. "It's for you."

"Damn," Dean muttered.

5:00 P.M.

"So, apparently women don't like it when you give another guy permission to date them. And I am a stupid, stupid misogynistic man for answering on her behalf, and also if we don't come visit her soon she's going to hunt us down and arrest us," Dean summarized. "Oh, and also, you're going to get a stern talking-to about your map drawing skills."

Sam's face was still red, which Dean felt was the only up-side to the hour long reaming he'd just received via cell phone.

Sam winced. "So, I guess this means Garth doesn't stand a chance?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, apparently her opinion of him went from 'kind of sweet' to 'I'm gonna light his ass on fire' pretty quickly after he mentioned his phone conversation with me. I'm killing him for that, by the way. But, since Garth likes having his pride handed to him by strong domineering women - he was providing a heartfelt testament of love in the background, in case you're wondering - I somehow doubt his pursuit of her is over."

"Poor Jody."

"Someone's probably getting Garthed tonight," Dean agreed. He let out a slow breath, tightening his grip on the still-empty garbage bag he was carrying. "So, you ready to do this?"

Sam's shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. "It's already getting dark out. You win, Dean. We won't clean out the trunk." He stared down into the box at his feet. "I'll go put away the items we took out…You can watch your Dr. Sexy spin-off."

A knock sounded in place of Dean's reply. Both brother's slowly looked at the door they were standing beside.

"Huh. That's not normal," Sam said, reaching down to pull the Desert Eagle from the storage box. "We expecting company?"

"Traveling Bible salesman?" Dean offered.

"Let's hope it's nothing that scary. This is supposed to be the most protected place on Earth."

"And, in our experience, evil doesn't knock…Well, usually it doesn't," Dean added. Giving his brother a curt nod to acknowledge that he was ready, he pulled down the lever.

Sam stayed tucked behind the door, prepared to attack, but he saw the expression on Dean's face go from false cheer to genuine confusion.


Sam tucked the gun into the back of his pants, maneuvering out into the open to find an elderly woman standing a few feet from the door, holding a pie dish out in front of her apron dress, a wide, dentured grin on her cherry-cheeked face. She waddled a step forward, the curve of her back leaving her at nearly chest height to Dean and her head at a constant tilt back as she looked through the heavy square glasses on the tip of her nose.

"Oh, my, you boys are even taller up close," she said, her pleasant voice so soft and fragile that Sam had to take a step closer to hear her.

"Can we help you?" Sam asked.

"How rude of me, prattling on without introducing myself… my name is Ophelia Griffin."

Dean blinked. "You live in the cottage," he said, smiling politely at the realization. He gave Sam a sideways glance. "The cottage, up the road, Sam," he said, pointedly.

This was the old woman who'd been watching them earlier. Sam let out a breath. "Oh, right, the cottage. It's good to meet you, Mrs. Griffin."

"Oh, call me Ophie, dear," she corrected, handing him the dish when he reached out for her hand. "Coconut Banana Marshmallow Meringue. I hope you boys enjoy pie."

Sam didn't have to look at Dean to know he was about to pull the dish out of his hands in about two seconds.

"We sure do, ma'am." Dean replied. "I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam. We're just checking out the property for -"

Ophie raised one small hand to stop him. "Oh, no, dear, there's no need for stories." She reached for the chain at the high collar of her dress, pulling free a small round medallion. Carved into the gold was an Aquarian star, the familiar symbol of the Men of Letters. "You see, I already why you're here."

Sam's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You're…you're one of the members? We thought they were all dead."

"Oh heavens, no, I'm not a member. And I always kept hope that there were still those who lived, even if they couldn't return to their safe haven." Ophie chuckled, a sound just as soft as her whispery voice. "My family has lived nearby for generations, and we have seen many otherworldly things take place here. The order considered us their allies. Why, I've kept an eye on this entry for decades, myself. It's just so good to see this old place put to use again, and by such strapping young men with such a fine automobile."

Dean grinned. "I'm liking you more every minute, Ophie."

Ophie reached out, patting his arm gently. "Then I assume you will find me even more favorable when I tell you there's a hidden garage on the opposite side of the property. If you enjoy machinery, I'm sure you'll find it most beneficial."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding," she assured. "Now, let me take a look at you." She toddled back a bit, eyeing them. "Yes, yes, there's something familiar about the two of you. You've had kin here before. You're legacies, aren't you?"

Sam smiled at the sudden look of pride on Dean's face. He couldn't help but share it.

"I thought so," she breathed. Her eyes were shining with memory when she stared up at their faces. "Well then, it's so good you've come home at last. Better late than never."

6:00 P.M.

Sam stretched his back out as he walked into the main room. He was surprised to find his laptop abandoned on the table, right next to the now empty pie pan. After they'd seen Ophie home, promising to come by for lunch one day, he'd left Dean to his own devices, and now his brother was missing.

"I really hope you didn't go looking for that garage in the dark…" Sam muttered.

"What was that?"

Sam took a step backward, tracking the voice to the balcony level. After a few seconds, he heard Dean tromping down the steps. His brother was carrying the box under one arm and the half-filled bag of garbage by his fingertips.

Sam raised a brow. "What is… You cleaned it out?"

Dean shrugged but didn't meet his eye. "I was thinking we…I was thinking we're probably going to be here a while, so it won't hurt to leave a few axes behind when we go on hunts. But I'm keeping the retro porn. It's a decent distraction if the cops look in the back of the trunk."

Sam chuckled. "True."

Dean plopped the box down. "Plus, we'll probably want to make room for a few of the goodies we find around here."

Sam chewed his lip a moment before tapping his brother's elbow. "Come here a minute. There's something I want to show you."

Sam walked off, knowing Dean would follow.

"What are we doing at my bedroom?" he asked.

Sam pointed at the wall inside instead of answering, and Dean's face lit up as soon as he turned the corner. On the side facing the bed were his tapes, flat against the wall behind a pane of glass.

"I found a shallow shadow box in the storage, probably for one of the displays. I thought you might like to have that old junk around." Sam smiled. "Since you're so sentimental and all. Go ahead, crack a joke about my craft skills."

Dean turned too quickly almost, slamming into Sam as he wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Sam returned it, smiling, "Ophie's right. It's good we finally found home."