and i'm goin' down all the way

[Dean's sitting on the trunk of the Impala, half-finished beer in hand; he's parked at the very edge of town, as far as he can drive without getting turned back by whatever mystical mojo Template pulls to keep them all locked up.

he can see a road, and open fields, and a horizon.

it's a painful picture]

This is so many kinds of screwed up.

[Dean is at the kitchen table, pouring over a messy stack of papers, a lot of them letters, bills, receipts, copies of cheques, and account summaries]

This is from two friggin' months ago...two years ago?

...we're being audited?!

[slams the papers down on the table]

Hey! Which of you kids doesn't have a job? If you don't, you're getting one right now!

The...the hell?! How the f--stay the hell away from me you little bastards!

[Dean is dodging around furniture in the main sitting room of Labarum House, nearly falling on his ass and more or less trying to get away from the little mechanized rats scurrying all over the floor.

Dean? Dean does not like rats.

and in a second, they won't like him, either]

Back the fuck off! [pyro skills are go and one of the rats bursts into a ball of fire, which then proceeds to run around the room. still on fire]

[there's a sudden burst of sharp static and sound over the radio channels; from the background noise - wind, tires screeching, horns blaring - it's obvious that he's driving]

--on of a bitch!

[more static and, surprisingly, a moan of pain. sometimes having demon-given psychic powers is bad for a body; something is going on in the city and it's hitting his ESP like a Mac truck]

Sa--...Sam! I'm almost back to the apartment. Just gotta shake these gu--[he cuts off and moans again, cursing and pressing a hand to his head, vision blurring and Impala veering wildly on the street]

[the place? a crusty, half-hidden autoshop with a black, gleaming 1972 Buick Rivera parked in the open garage.

and Dean just happens to be standing at the storefront window, trying not to look like he's staring inside the shop like it's a gift from God.

feel bad for him. he has no money and not a single fake credit card to is name]

[Dean looks haggard, more worn than he has since he came to Template. currently, he's digging through the trunk of the Impala, looking for one last box of hollow shells]

Damnit, I know I left it in here...! [he curses under his breath, and unconsciously rubs at his eyes, right where the circles are]

Friggin' dreams are bad enough. I don't need to be going senile, too.

[finally finds the box, stuffing it into his jacket; a brief, dull flash can be seen, the streetlight's glow on the barrel of a saw-off shotgun tucked up against his side]

[hey look, it's Dean! ...in jail. again. currently housed in a cell weeeeeell away from pretty much everybody, he's kicking back on the bed, arms behind his head]

Who knew Template lawmen had such long memories? Just because a few things went up in smoke the last time I was hear, they gotta slap arson on my squeaky clean record, right next to indecent exposure and resisting arrest. [grins lopsidedly]

Hey Sammy, mind helpin' big brother out? I might just let you have the last pie.

[Dean is currently stampeding outside to survey the damage on his baby]

Son of a bitch keyed my goddamn car! I'm gonna find 'em and shove their heads so far up their as--.....

....

[the Impala, his car, his baby, the love of his life, wounded in battle and in desperate need of his care...is not there]

....Somebody stole my car.

Somebody stole my car.

[Dean is definitely starting to hyperventilate]

Somebody stole my car!!

There was somethin' wrong with that kid. Maybe it was, I dunno, the gas mask. Little kids shouldn't wear freakin' gas masks. Especially if they're British.

[for some reason, that British part is said rather bitterly. But Dean survived, so he stomps from grocery store front to his car, bags in hand, frown on his face, and apparently in one piece.

then he sees his Impala, the glossy black paintjob marred by the long, obvious white scratch lines, evidence of someone and a hearty pair of keys at work. the damage rings the entire car, bumper to bumper, and he just...stares at it for a second.

then he shrugs, and climbs inside]

Sam better not have had another 'episode' while I was gone.


((OOC: Guess who got his love for his car taken away? Yep.))

[And here is Dean, wearing the same clothes he's worn for the past three or four days, trudging into his and Sam's apartment at a very slow, reluctant pace. The sleep he's gotten has been pretty much...none, and it shows in a haggard face covered with a couple days worth of stubble, and the dark rings under his eyes. He looks like he really, really wants a shower, but hesitates, lingering on the doormat as he shrugs off his jacket.]

I'm back.

( Private to Sam )

Hey, uh...Template, right? We're a people, aren't we? Yeah, kinda. In case word hasn't gotten around yet, I'm Dean. Winchester. Like Bond, only cooler. And minus the stuffy suit.

I've only been around a couple weeks, and I figure it wouldn't hurt to check out the town, chat with the locals, see the sights. If any ladies were willing to help me out, that'd be great. I can give you my cell number, you can give me yours, and we can set something up.

( Private FROM Sam )

Nice meetin' ya, Template.

[one Dean Winchester is just getting out of his baby car, digging around in the backseat before emerging with an arm full or two of plastic shopping bags. new, from all major retailers! clothes for little boys! aka Sam, who's gotten himself shrunk. Dean steps back out of the Impala, swings the door shut with his foot, turns, and steps right into a ring of flowers.]

...you've got to be friggin' kidding me. [glares sourly, then grins, tilting his chin up]

Wishes? Right, right, wishes.

Alright, okay, I've got a wish for my invisible fairy godwhatever.

[very clearly and very slowly] I want apple pie, like mom used to make. And it'd better be hot out of the oven.

[the flowers fall and he waits. nothing happens.]

Figures I'd get the girly flower ring that was out of order. [shrugs and turns towards the apartment building...and spots a very delicious-looking apple pie on the hood of his car] ...jackpot! [snags his victory pie, making his way into the apartment building, then the elevator...and spots another pie on the floor of the elevator] Ooooookay.

[he leaves that one where it is, and makes it to his and Sam's apartment, wrestling the door open...and nearly steps on another pie waiting for him on the doormat]

....

Uh, Sam? Don't freak out but I think we're being invaded by pies.

[a practically naked man makes his accidental appearance on the second level; he's currently incarcerated down at the Template police station in nothing but his boxers, lounging back on the bed with his arms behind his head and heckling whatever officers happen to pass by]

You know, I think you're doing a real bang-up job. Who knows what I might have done back in that church? Hell, I could've ended up naked. I still could! You're doing a real service to society.

Don't you walk away from me, we're having a really good conversation!

[he's given a dirty look, the policeman in question turning away and sneaking a packet of smokes out of his pocket. he notices, of course]

Isn't that against cop rules or something?

[he's ignored again, so he just grins, settles back down, and laughs to himself as the officer shouts in surprise and hastily stomps on his packet of cigarettes, which - somehow - spontaneously caught on fire]