I don't believe it...I got to watch it as it aired! So cool.First off, a quick note: the promo said a Supernatural evening beginning at 8:00 PM. This is (according to TV Guide) because they're re-airing "Nightshifter" from last season at 8, followed b the new episode at 9.)OKAY. I knew that this was a riff off "Groundhog Day" but OMG it worked out so well.... The challenge as an actor of course is that during the scenes when Sam is reacting, everyone else has to do things *exactly* the same - same line delivery, same gestures, same timing. And they can't just use the same footage because Sam is different each time.Things I loved: - Dean rattling a whole stream of "Sam Winchester" statements (and Sam being able to say every one of them along with him. It was a WEE!CHESTER moment, yo, even if they weren't actually 6 and 10 at the time. Mental ages! CAN'T WAIT for the clips of that.- Dean being the one to figure out that the girl they passed was the missing man's daughter. "How many Tuesdays have you had, and you never asked her what she was passing out?" Sam's so distracted by Dean's multiple deaths that he forgot how to work the case. Hee!- Bobby saying that Sam (and Dean) were the closest things he had to family. Coming off last week's ep, that was on Sam's mind, so it was easy for the trickster to pull it and use it, but still, AWWW.- How long was that gargle? Heh. Dean's usually not a morning person, so seeing Dean being Chipper was truly a frightening prospect. I sympathize with Sam. - Sam's compressed understanding of the events in the town, very much a la "Groundhog Day" - and especially when he tore apart the Mystery Spot (though there's a wibble there that the scuffle led to Dean getting...um...axed. Sorry). And talking about having burned it down, all the things he tried to do to stop Dean from dying. - The tightness of the teleplay. No, seriously. This is good writing, how the same things are said, but on each successive day, for example, a different character may say it. Great script.- Picking up the trickster again, and Sam's desperation at the end. Oh, and of course, "I'm supposed to wake up!" and the way his despair registers on his face, like he's just wasted precious time assuming he would relive Wednesday just like Tuesday. - Sam's little OCD turn once he's "alone" - like how the compartment in the trunk becomes a mirror of his father's weapons tray in Truckzilla, and how he makes hospital corners. Boy has probably never had to make a bed in his LIFE, but he starts when he turns obsessive about the trickster? Oh, Sam. You are John's child. There is no doubt.- OMG HUGGGGG!!!11Eleventy. Yay for Sam's bear hug!Things I didn't care for as much- The trickster's motivation. Revenge, yes. Lesson teaching? Meh. He referred to the demons as bad guys - does that mean that non-demonic supernatural creatures have a stake in this? It makes sense, as a sentient being (opposed to a ghost or feral creature running on instinct), the trickster would want humans to stick around. They're his piece of fun, too. If the world were all taken over by demons, not as much interest for him. But teaching Sam to let go of Dean? For a minute, because we'd seen her in the "Then" section, I thought he was going to turn out to be Ruby, crafting an hallucination within an hallucination.- That the Hasselbeck story just petered out once the trickster told them he'd put the guy through a wormhole. Ruthless! and then Desperate!Sam never even thought to bargain for the innocent man's release (even if he was a prick).- "Of course I peed myself." Ouch, Sam. Okay, you're upset, but that was hitting...below the belt (sorry, again). But once again, we're seeing Sam put Dean down where he doesn't let others do it.- The compressed nature of the 40 minute time frame meant we couldn't go as deep into the stories of the townsfolk. I really want the missing scene where Sam sees Doris at the shooting range.- As mentioned above, that at least one of Dean's accidental deaths was caused by Sam. Owie.Hm. Nope, not thinking of any other negatives at this point. I'm sure they'll come up on repeated viewing. (And repeating and repeating and repeating)Ah, SHOW. You are a thing of beauty. Can't wait to download you tomorrow so I can make you MINE.

I think there must be an eclipse or something because I DON'T HAVE REHEARSAL TONIGHT!I can stay home, pay bills, shower, and oh, yeah SHOW. SQUEE! I know just enough about this one to know it's going to be funny and hurty and hoo-rah.Y'all, it's been so long since I've been home on a Thursday night that I found myself wondering what was on TV and whether I could start my awesome birthday present from etakyma: Neverwhere. I remember watching a really grainy bootleg copy of this that Chris's ex-husband Kevin got from a friend in the UK and being absolutely IN LUST with the Marquis de Carabas's Coat. No, really. See? COAT!And I wouldn't toss the Marquis out of bed for eating tuna fish, either. Mrow.Anyway.So "P&theP" went really well. We zipped together a second skirt for me, because A and I both hated the first one we made, and it worked much better. First performance I felt like Captain Hook ("No little children love me") but after the second there were THREE little girls who said I was their favourite, despite being one of the two "Nasty Nasties." Chris, my partner in wretchedness, had several young friends who came to see him, including one little girl whom he's known since her birth four years ago. She WOULD NOT come to him, had to be coaxed. It was so cute.Car is still limping along. It has developed a new fun sound. I haven't had it checked out; will have to do so just to find out what the heck it is. It's a high-pitched, very faint grinding noise, like a metal fork drawn very lightly over a ceramic plate. Seems worst when I am cranking the wheel; started doing that to the left only and when decelerating; now it it more constant. Something makes me think it's the brake shoe or a pad wearing thin.On the claims front, the woman who rear-ended me finally put in a claim with her insurance agency. I have to take it to their assessor to get it inspected for damage. Between that and a doctor's appointment (nothing serious) I have to take next Wednesday off. Joy. But I should get a check shortly thereafter, which is Good.I need to do my taxes. Ugh.Last week (only a day late), grouchyoldcoot sent a gorgeous vase of pink and red carnations and roses, along with a box of ginormous heart-shaped pecan crunch chocolates, to the office for my birthday. The flowers are holding up well! And the chocolates are less than half gone. I asked if this was a twofer (Valentines and my b-day being a week apart) and he indicated no. Still no surprises yet today, though. But then, last year he sent long-stemmed roses but it was the day of a MAJOR ice storm and no one could make their deliveries until the 15th.I hope to bang through reading a few more BAF stories and possibly type a little more "Trost Und Freude" tonight.I'm also procrastinating actual work like a fiend. But I'll have to get to it sooner or later. Sigh. Actually I've done a fair amount today, it's just not making much of a dent in the jobs I keep putting off. Meh. Tomorrow I have another doctor's appointment (different doctor - dermatologist) so I have to leave early.So I guess I better hop to it. Phooey.

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 6/at least 15)Author: gwendolyngraceRecipient: celtic_cookieRequest terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results. Rating: PGGenre: GenWordcount (this chapter): about 4,060Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliantDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.Authors Notes: Its a twofer special, in honor of Deans 29th Birthday! Thanks as always to etakyma for the perceptive and helpful beta.From the TopThenAfter leaving Sam to his homework before dinner, John took Deans temperature again. It had been down a bit99.6which wasnt surprising given the kid had been sitting up when John came in with the bag from the drug store. But the fever still wasnt gone, even if Dean thought it meant he was cured.Ill bring your soup, but then I want you to go back to sleep, dude.Mtired of sleepin, Dad. Been sleepin all day.Yeah, and its working. Fevers down.Dean started coughingit was shallow at first, then grew deeper until John could tell the coughs rasped in Deans lungs. Sounded like it hurt like hell.After you eat, more cough medicineoh, and I got Vicks for you. He reached into the sack and pulled out several bottles to strip them of their plastic seals.What?Remember when Sammy had bronchitis?The minty stuff you told me to put on his chest?Yup.Smells like Ben-Gay.Its camphorsame stuff.Dean scowled. I dont wanna smell like that creepy Mr. Runyon.Who? John frowned.Mr. Runyon. He lived down the hall from us in Hazleton, coupla three years ago? He always smelled like mothballs.John rolled his eyes. He remembered now: Runyon had asked him to help with his sink one afternoon because the superintendent of the building had been out of town. Hed talked while John worked. Runyon had arthritis, hands bent like tree trunks in a Dr. Seuss book, and hed lost his wife ten years previously to cancer. The camphor smell was from the sport crme he used for his joints, but the whiskey had been the smell of grief. Hed picked up on Johns single-parent status and offered to watch the boys now and then. John had figured, even at eight and four, theyd be better off without the drunks supervision.Would you rather smell funny for a couple of days, or look funny for the rest of your life? John asked deadpan.It took Dean a minute. But when he got it, he scrunched his face up at his father. Youre right, Dad. Much worse to have to look like you forever.John laughed and swiped playfully at Deans head. Dean got his hand up to block, but John was stronger and faster, and his hand connected. He ruffled Deans short hair, leaned in, and shook Deans head affectionately. Youre feeling a little better, he declared. Still movin kinda slow, though, huh?Shoulda blocked, Dean muttered. I hate being sick.You and everyone else, bucko, John told him, Ill be back with your dinner.As he worked in the kitchen, John went through a mental assessment of Deans illness. The fever was down, but not goneso he was less worried about having to take Dean to the hospital. The cough was getting worse, which meant that all the junk from his sinuses had probably settled in his chest. Dean talked like his throat still hurt, croaky and with a bit of a rasp. That could have been exacerbated by the snowball fight. In addition to his blurted lunchtime confession, Dean had given John the highlights of the battle while he ate his toast and related how one of his opponents had stuffed snow down his back. John was sure that had brought on the timing of his worst symptomsbut he wasnt about to yell at the kid for, well, being a kid. Having a little fun.He still felt like hed been too harsh on Dean back in Fort Douglassnot because Dean disobeyed him, but because he shouldnt have left him in charge when the stakes were so high. John had known the damn shtriga went after siblings, but hed mistaken Deans usual maturity and diligence for blind obedience.He dried the pot and filled it with water to start a boil, reflecting that he should have known his kid better than that.Somewhere in his quest to both protect Dean from the details of hunting and impress on him the importance of his responsibilities, John had missed two vital facts: first, that Deans faith in his father meant that he also expected John could protect him from anything; and second, no matter how well Dean had handled babysitting Sam before, he was still a kid. And he had no way to know that the situation in Fort Douglass had been specialthat the usual flexibility he could exercise when watching Sam wasnt an option that time.And that, John knew, was Johns fault.Because after six years of training, John should have made it clearer that orders were not to be followed on a case-by-case basis, when he felt like it. Dean should have understood that John didnt limit his freedom capriciouslythat if hed said not to leave, he meant it, and there was a damn good reason. Maybe Dean needed a close call to bring the lesson homeand John told himself that in that much, his flush of anger had been completely justifiedbut after the fact, thats when John felt hed overplayed his disappointment. He didnt want Dean to forget the moral, any more than he ever wanted Dean to risk himself or Sam like that again, so hed hardened himself against his impulse to let Dean off the hook. Had to give the boy credit: Hed become even more serious about his role in Johns quest, to Johns mixed relief and dismay. He could have rebelled just as easily, John knew. That possibility had occurred to him. And if Dean had? If hed flat-out refused to cooperate after that? John had wrestled with that question for weeks after the failed hunt.Steam rose out of the pot. John slipped the noodles in and pushed them under with a wooden spoon, still distracted, even a year later, by the thought that he might have had to quit.On the scale of reality checks, Fort Douglass was up there with the day his platoon landed in Nam, Dean's birth, John's first conversation with Missouri, and his first visit to the Roadhouse. It was the kind of incident that brought home to him just how very far over his head he was. His immediate conclusion was simply that hed pushed Dean too far, too fast. Hed backed off a little, finding them a safe enough town and limiting himself to one- or two-day jobs. Hed watched Dean closely until he was sure that Dean was not planning a mutiny. John had come close to quitting, anyway, thinking that the jobs dangersthe risk to his boyswas too great. There wereother distractions pulling on him at the time, too, but at first, anyway, it was all about finding their footing again. But when he noticed that the incident seemed to strengthen Deans commitment, he lifted up a grateful prayer to Jims Godor whichever gods were listeningand to Mary for passing her strength and fortitude on to their boy. With Dean back on board, John could go on doing what he felt he had to do.But all that didnt mean he wanted to cheat Dean out of every meaningful childhood experienceor many of the lighthearted ones, either. Which brought him back to the snowball fight. He dumped in the flavor packet and stirred the noodles. So the kid had let loose, made a couple friends, maybe, and taken some playtime for himself. It was just bad luck that hed been coming down with the flu at the same time. He didnt need a guilt trip about itand he sure as hell didnt need to think that any playfulness would automatically result in a bad outcome. John would be damned before hed let Dean think no good could come of ever having fun. The psychologists had a fancy term for that: associative dysfunction. John called it a load of bullshit.He set Deans bowl and spoon on a makeshift tray to take in to him.After this, can I watch some TV? Dean asked.Lets see how this goes, okay? I think youll need to get back to sleep.Dean rolled his eyes. Tired of bed.I know, John said. He didnt mention that nearly everything hed tried to put in Dean today had come right back out. Eat that slowly, he directed.He stepped across the hall for to refill Deans water glass and came back to sit with him, folding his legs Indian-style on the floor. Hey, Deando you know anything about the kids in Sammys school staying late to practice something?Dean choked on his soup and started coughing. John rescued the tray moments before Dean would have toppled it all over. Hey, easy, champ! John said, setting the tray on the floor hastily. Did it go down wrong?Dean nodded as he gasped for air. John patted his back and handed him the glass of water. Yokay? he asked when the coughing subsided.Yeah. Dean leaned back against the wall. Sorry.Sokay. John handed back the noodles and waited while Dean finished them. So? Did Sam mention anything to you?No, Dean said into his bowl. You know Sam, though, sometimes he doesntYeah, I know. Nevermind, Ill see if I can get more sense out of him later.If hes in something, do we have to go watch him? Dean squinted up at him.John watched Dean carefully for a sign that he knew something he wasnt saying. He couldnt detect any subterfuge, but somehow that made him more nervous.Ill get back to you on that, he said. Finished?Yessir. Dean waited while John got to his feet and then passed off the tray.Lets give that a bit of time to settle. Here. Rub this on your chest dont get it in your eyes. He handed over the Vap-o-Rub and brought the dishes out. Sam was seated on the floor still doing his homework, so John went into the kitchen and washed up, made dinner for himself and Sam. Sam, come eat, he called. They ate together at the bar counter, then John sent Sam to watch TV while he cleaned up and made sure Deans dinner was staying down.When he came back, he set up his coffee for the next morning and joined Sam in the living room. It was time to find out what Sam had meant about not having to stay late with the other kids.Sammy, he said, patting the couch next to him. Sam looked up and clambered onto the cushion from the floor, curling himself onto Johns lap. Now, go slow, and tell me about this pageant business. Why arent you in it with the other kids?Sam took a deep breath. He launched into a simple explanation and after a couple follow-up questions, John had a better sense of what was going on. At least, he thought he understood: sometimes it was hard to tell from the spotty information Sam gave him. John planned to have a word with Sams teacher, thoughhe didnt like moving them around, but he did want his kids to get the full program wherever they were enrolled. To say nothing of the tail wagging the dog. He planted a quick kiss in Sams hair and pushed Sam off his lap with instructions to change for bed, in a way that left no room for Sam to take it as a suggestion.When Sam had left, John pulled out the files from beside the table. He cross-referenced his list with the files, making notes on one of Sams blank sheets of paper when he found an employee who matched the description Joan Kimmel had given him. He set aside their files to read more closely later. Then he went through the list again and pulled out the ones matching the descriptions from his reconnaissance the day before. By that time, Sam came back and curled up next to him while the TVs light flickered over them both. The next time John looked down, Sam was fast asleep.~*~Later that night, Dean woke John up by rolling out of bed and throwing up again. John held his head over the bucket until they reached a break, then hauled him up and carried him to the bathroom. He ran a hot bath while Dean was dry heaving. He sat Dean on the tub to strip his PJs and ordered him in to clean up.He left Dean to it and went back into the boys room to get Dean something else to wear. He found a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt, which he brought in.Dean had washed himself off feebly and pulled himself back to the side of the tub. John handed him a towel, then his clothes. This sucks, Dean announced.John grunted his agreement. He held the door open while Dean stumbled back to his bed, coughing enough to double himself over. John covered him up and came back to the window side.Oh, kid, he sighed as Dean moaned and shook. Yknow, weve been pretty lucky. Most kids get sick around once a year. I think the last time you were this bad off wasoh, must have been the winter before Sammy was born.Dean stopped shivering. John looked down; his sons eyes were shining in the light through the window. He was watching John intently.Youd just had a birthday party with all the kids in your Day Care, John continued. And I think one of them had been sick. You started in with sniffles and within a day, you were one miserable little dude. And we got through that one togetheryou and me.You took care of me? Dean breathed.Yeah. Someone had to go up and down all those stairs for whatever you needed. Your m Johns breath hitched and he paused. Yourmother, he tried again, and this time it came out, if a little hoarsely, shed been having thesethese stomachaches. Nothing too serious, but the doctors wanted to make sure she got lots of rest, and she couldnt take the stairs too often. So if I wasnt bringing you milk or juice or peanut butter sandwiches, I was bringing your m It happened again. Out of nowhere, he couldnt speak. John closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath.Deans hand touched his leg. I miss her too, Dad, he whispered.John swiped his hand over his eyes. See if you can get back to sleep, buddy.Deans fever spiked at about 2:00 AM and broke by 3:00. John stripped him down again, dried his clammy skin with a towel, and settled him back in the covers. Dean slept through it all. John listened to his sons breathing deepen and grow even in the early morning quiet and sighed in relief. He closed his eyes and let Deans restful slumber take him down into his own dreamless sleep.~*~Id like to keep him home another day, let him get his strength back, John explained to the school secretary. Should I stop in for his homework?Let me see. Dean was out yesterday, too?Yes. He waited while Ms. Innsbruck checked her ledger. He could hear pages turning on her end. Mr. Winchester? None of Deans teachers left assignments for him. If he cant come back tomorrow, well put together a list for you. Otherwise, he can follow-up with his teachers when he returns to class.Have you met my son? John asked glibly. Hes not likely to ask for his back homework.Well, theyll follow-up with him, then.Right. Thank you, John told her in clipped tones. He hung up. Sammy! he called down the hall. Stop bugging your brother and lets go.Sams head poked out of the doorway. Mnot bugging him, he whined.John joined him in the doorway. Dean was sitting up with his bowl of cream of wheat, eating carefully. Sam had his left arm in his sweater and was struggling to get the right arm through its sleeve.Youre still pretty weak, kid. You need to rest.Mtired of resting, Dad.John frowned. Well, today resting can include the couch.And the TV? Dean perked up.And the TV. He frowned at Sam. Get your stuff, he said impatiently.He shepherded Sam to the car. At least it hadnt snowed, so John didnt have much to clean off before driving Sam to school.Dad?Yeah, Sam.Will you still drive us after Deans better?John sucked his teeth. Well, tomorrow, anyway. Then well seegot a whole weekend to get through.Oh.John pulled up and set the brake, flipped on his hazard lights, and climbed out as Sam two-handed the back door and slid onto his feet.Whatre you doing? Sam asked him sharply, seeing him come around the car.Coming in with you for a minute.Sam halted. Why? he demanded.John cocked his head at his son. I gotta explain myself to you now, Sam? Come on. He strode away toward the door, turning after the second step to make sure Sam had fallen in behind him. Sam ran forward to catch up and John held the door for them both. When they came into the hallway, John stopped. The current of children parted around him. Sam stopped, too, looking up at him for clarification. Go on to your class, Sam, John ordered. Ill see you after school.Sam didnt move. He looked up at John with an open mouth, between bewilderment and anxiety.Problem? John growled. Dean wouldnt have given him this much trouble. Dean wouldnt have given him hardly any trouble. Leave it to Sam to turn a simple instruction into a scene. John didnt have the time for scenes today, or the patience for them any day. He had to find the teacher responsible for the pageant quickly and get going if he was going. If Dean was feeling better, perhaps John could keep his shift and then interview some of his suspects while he was out there, before someone else got hurt.MI in trouble? Sam squeaked.John looked heavenward, sighing. Only if you dont do as youre told. Go to class.Sams eyes dropped and his cheeks flushed. Okay, he said sadly.Good, John said. He clapped his hand on Sams shoulder manfully. Ill see you later.Sam nodded once, his jaw set, as if Johns simple gesture had been all hed needed to convince him John wasnt angry with him. Sam moved toward the center stairwell and his cubbyhole outside room 224. John headed down the right-hand corridor to the school office.The school secretary was a round-faced granny named Lorraine Sanders. Hed spoken with her a couple times while enrolling Sam, but she had already begun to blend in his mind with the other school secretaries, homeroom teachers, after school counselors, nurses, coaches, and librarians whod come in and out of the boys lives. He suspected that she felt the same and would hardly remember one parent among the thousands she must have met in her 25-year history with the school.Mr. Winchester! she greeted him brightly, to his surprise, when he walked in the door. What can I do for you? Sams teachers all say hes doing splendidly.Good to hear, John said distractedly. Mrs. SandersLorraine, please.Lorraine, I wonder if you could tell me where to find the teacher in charge of theuh, the pageant? Im not sure if its just for the 2nd grade or for the wholeOh, the whole schools involved, but each class has its own contribution. Lets seethe 2nd grade is presenting traditions from central Europe, I thinkwe have each class studying a different culture She consulted a mimeographed list. Yes, Germany, Scandinavia, Hungary, etc.And whos in charge? John repeated. O Tannenbaum, he thought.That would be Miss Johnson. Shes in room 305. But homeroom starts in five minutes. Perhaps youd like to call her later instead?No, Ill be quick, John said, already backing away from the counter in front of Lorraines desk.Oh, dear, is there a problem? Lorraine asked, but John was halfway out the door and didnt answer.He took the stairs at a jog, pleased that even with all the driving hed been doing he wasnt as out of breath as hed feared. Time to get back to runningboys, too, he thought ruefully. Room 305 was conveniently located just above the school office and just across from the right-wing stairwell. The door was still open. John could see a number of children Sams age goofing around inside. He knocked on the open door and Miss Johnson looked up blankly. She was pretty in a young way, looking like shed just stepped out of a copy of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm or something: long hair, long sleeves, long skirt. John guessed she was perhaps 24, 25 years old. Not yet acquainted with lifes harder knocks. She had brown hair, which shed put into a complicated clip at the back, leaving her open, heart-shaped face unobstructed. She didnt wear glasses, so there was nothing but a layer of ice blue eyeshadow between her eyes and the world.Yes? she said expectantly.Miss Johnson, my names John Winchester. IdMiss Johnson dropped her clipboard. Oh! she cried in dismay.Here. John stepped forward and rescued the clipboard and its attendance sheet. Thank you, she said, still looking pale. Mr. Winchester, Im so sorryI honestly didnt know. I hope everythings straightened out now, though? She spoke very quickly, like one aware that shed screwed up.Well, about thatcould we step outside?Miss Johnson swallowed nervously. I only have a minute.This shouldnt take long. They came out in the hallway. A row of cubbyholes stood along the corridor walls, and above and around them there were bulletin boards with colorful paper lining them. Kids picturesholiday scenes, looked likewere tacked up here and there, along with snapshots of the children and their classrooms.Sam says hes not in the pageant, John told her pointedly.Wellyes, thats right. So I hope theres no problem, Miss Johnson said.John quirked an eyebrow. He tried a different tactic. Look, I know its tough when kids come in during the middle of term, butMr. Winchester, Miss Johnson said firmly. Im sorry to interrupt, but I really need to begin homeroom.The bell hasnt It rang, cutting him off.And forgive me, but I dont appreciate you coming here to take me to task just before I have to teach 30 overactive children, when Ive already apologized and done what I could to correct the mistake.What John began to ask.Look, I realize that like a lot of parents, you may not have time to come back later, and believe me, a lot of parents wouldnt care enough to come in person, but if you really feel you need to take this matter any further, I have to insist that you schedule a conference with me. Im available after the rehearsal, I can talk with you by phone, Ill even be around over the weekend, if thats more convenient.John tried to reconcile her attitude with the conversation hed intended to have. Hang on just one second, he said, holding up one hand. Either she was seriously confused, or she had one hell of a defense mechanism. Miss Johnson, if you dont mind my asking, how long have you been teaching?Her eyes widened in distress. For a horrible moment, John thought she was going to burst into tears. Thankfully, she held it together, opting for indignation over crying. Mr. Winchester. I assure you, my qualifications have nothing to do with this incident. It was an oversightan omission in Sams records. Thats all. Please, I have to go in to my class now. She yanked open the door and stepped across the threshold, as if the invisible division protected her from him as reliably as a salt line. Please feel free to call and make an appointment if you still need to discuss it, she offered stiffly. Then she shut the door, leaving John alone and very perplexed in the brightly decorated hallway.Continue to Chapter 7

Anyone know what the sales tax was in Michigan in 1990?Thanks!

Magistrate let me off. He was a little swotty, but he waived the ticket.No charge, no ticket, no surcharge on the insurance.Got to work by 10:15.Yay!In other news, I have proven to myself beyond shadow of doubt that although I like root beer, it does not like me.I've suspected it for a while, and have avoided root beer accordingly. However, tonight I had some. Note to self: don't do that again.Other things to update: Saturday was my father's birthday. Friday, he called me at work. He asked a question (I don't remember what it was). I answered it. I also answered a question he'd asked over email the day before. "And?" he says. "What?" "Isn't there something you want to say to me today?" I look around. "Dad. Your birthday is tomorrow." He reminded me that he has trouble remembering the days (ostensibly because he's retired, but I he had trouble before then!). I told him I thought it was just that he's forgot when his birthday is. Hee.

I had a brilliant plan. The plan was to go in to work for a few hours today to get caught up and pre-caught up because of traffic court tomorrow.It's snowing like mad.Crapola. It started while I was in the shower, because it sure as hell wasn't white out when I was sitting around here reading email an hour ago.I had just finished saying to myself, "Maybe I'll even be able to wear sneakers today." Glad I hadn't got out the door yet.Now I have no desire to go out while it's so crappy. Sigh. I'm from upstate New York. This isn't supposed to phase me.Fuck that shit.I'll give it twenty minutes and see how nasty it is. Argh.

I am not surprised: Your Score: Older Futhark You scored

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 5/at least 15)Author: gwendolyngraceRecipient: celtic_cookieRequest terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results. Rating: PGGenre: GenWordcount (this chapter): about 3,885Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliantDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.Authors Notes: So obviously, this will not be completely posted by January 31. But Ill keep going until its done, if yall will keep reading! Many thanks to etakyma the most insightful beta, who after leaving me hanging for so long on the last chapter, got forced to read 5 and 6 this weekend while I had her in my evil clutches. And thus the continuity between this chapter and chapter 6 is much better than it was when it was just me. So you get them both at once! And even though there's more Sam in this chapter, and more Dean in the next one, we'll just dedicate them both to our birthday boy, 29 years young today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN!From the TopThenIt took a little finessing to convince Gina Tupelo, office manager for the Holiday Happenings regional office, that he was not hunting around on behalf of a lawsuit.I mean, we just know someones going to try to pin these accidents on us, Gina said, swishing around in her attractive skirt. She was still young looking and only a little rounded around the edges, but her hair was shot with silver. Something about the trim way she moved through the office made John think of a ballroom dancermaybe that was what kept her so spry. Poor Lyle, hes going out of his mind, requesting additional security, asking about better crowd controltheres just no budget. Yknow?Yeah, I know, John agreed soothingly. Thats why Im doing a more thorough background check on the employees. We think maybe someones playing Grinch with his operation.Huh. He didnt request a purchase order for a private investigator.NoIm not under contract with him directly. This comes from higher up.Oh. She grinned. You know, we run holiday displays for about ten malls in the area, and Lyles the best manager weve got. Hes always been a bit of a con artist. How he can squeeze so much work out of the mall is beyond me. You know he got them to go in for half of the decorations and pay to have everything installed this year? Usually we get billed for the union, but this year he got around it somehow. Mr. Gustafson just tells him he doesnt want to know how many laws hes breaking, as long as it doesnt come back to haunt us.John bit back a bark of laughter. Haunt. Funny you should use that word.Whys that?Well. He scrunched up his face and shifted his weight, making it clear that his next statement was not his idea. I heard some talk when I was out there earlier this week. People are a little nuts, you know? But seems theres some thought that the Workshop itself might be haunted. Crazy, huh? he said, smiling confidentially at Ginas disbelieving expression. But I just talked to someone who thought one of the elves actually disappeared. He chuckled indulgently. Can you believe that?But Gina wasnt gawping in shared contempt. She had gone quiet. John leaned forward. Well, its just talk, isnt it? he confided with a wink.I dont know, Gina said slowly. Youll probably think Im nuts for even saying it, but they might be right. I mean, youve read Dels statement?John frowned.Del. Del Masters, the Santa whose eye nearly got poked out?Ohright. Yes, Ive read it. John wondered if he could get his hands on it. Now that he had a last name, he might be able to catch him before he was released from St. Marys.Well, didnt he say that the ornaments moved on their own? And what on earth could make a hundred ornaments fly off the tree like that, all at once? I went out there the day after it happened, Mr. McIntyre. There was glass everywhere.Soyou think there could be something haunting the area? John asked quite seriously.I dont know. But I think Lyles right to get you investigating. I mean, after what happened to poor Lisa Stoddard.Right, John said, though he wasnt certain which one Stoddard had been. Hows she doing?I talked to her on the phone yesterday. She says shes always wanted to learn to write with her left hand. Poor thing, putting a brave face on it like that.Life gives you lemons, John said. He remembered now. Lisa Stoddard had broken her arm when her ladder had collapsed under her. So, shes not planning to sue, then? he asked.Lisa? Oh, no, I cant imagine. She was all alone when it happened.What was she doing there, again?Shed gone in to freshen up the paint on the Workshop building. She says shed just put down her brush and stopped for a break. She turned around to lean on the ladder while she rested, and BAM! The whole thing toppled.Was it an old ladder?Nowhats even weirder is it was aluminum. Nothing should have broken that thing, certainly not Lisa. Even if, Gina leaned in flirtatiously, she could stand to lose a few pounds.Does anyone else have a grudge against the company? John asked.Oh, well. Theres always a disgruntled parent or two, but nothing threatening, if thats what you mean. And I hate to think its one of our people. Lyles usually so careful about who he hires. But at this point, I really hope you find something. Lord knows the police just think its pranksters.What about the teenage employeescouldnt they be rigging stuff to go off? Could they have tampered with her ladder, and so on?Gina shrugged as if to say that John was the expert. She patted his arm. I guess thats what your background checks will decide.Guess youre right.He took the lists and the photocopied files with him to read through that night.~*~The school had a pickup loop that had been plowed, but piles of snow still lined the edges, reducing its usual two lanes to one and a half. That morning, cars had been backed up around the corner to drop kids off. But when John pulled up, the loop was practically deserted. He checked his watch, fearing that hed lingered too long at the management office and was late. He was late, but only by about fifteen minutes. Sammy was standing just inside the double doors, snow pants and coat on, but coat unzipped and mittens dangling from the cuffs. When he saw the big black car, he grabbed his stuff and came running. He had to use both hands to open the heavy back door.Hows Dean? Sam asked as soon as he climbed inside.Hello to you, too, John said. And how was your day?Sorry. John watched in the mirror while Sam, blushing, buckled his seatbelt. School was fine. Hows Dean?John chuckled. Hes pretty miserable, but I think hell live. Hey, Sammy? Wherere all the other kids?Sam paused before answering. To be on the safe side, John kept the car in Park until he understood the situation better. Over the years, John had come to appreciate that any hesitation on either of his sons parts was a sure sign that he wasnt about to get the whole truth. Usually he reminded himself that keeping certain things from parents was a part of being a child, especially a sibling. But part of him insisted that any secret, however small, was a potential danger in his childrens lives. He couldnt protect them if he didnt know everything that was going on, even tasks as banal as volcano projects.Theyreumtheyre staying a little later.Why? John drew the word out, fighting not to growl it.Sam paled. This was even more damning than his embarrassed flush. In Johns experience, it meant he had just caught Sam with his hand in the metaphoric cookie jar. Sammy?I dint hafta stay. Im not breaking any rules. Sam said it too fast, and his pitch rose steadily into the stratosphere as he jumped to his own defense. John hadnt even figured out what to accuse him of doing yet.Stay for what? He twisted to look over the seat back directly at Sam.Forfor a practice. But Im not in it. I dont hafta be, Sam added quickly.John narrowed his eyes. Something did not add up. Practice for what?A pageant. Is Dean all alone at home? Sam asked.John recognized the deflection, but Sammy had a point: hed left Dean a couple hours ago and they really did need to get back. Were not finished with this conversation, John promised, but he put the Impala in gear and made the left-hand turn to drive the short trip home.Once inside, Sammy stripped off his outer layer and hurried to his room. Dont bother your brother too much, Sam, John called after him. And let me know if he needs anything. Sam opened the door gently and disappeared through it, while John settled himself on the couch to sort the files and pull out the likely targets.~*~When Sam came in to their room, Dean was sitting up, flipping through a magazine. A short stack of comics lay on the bed next to him.Dont come too close, Sammy, he croaked.Dean, we gotta problem, Sam said urgently.We?Dad picked me up an he asked about all thother kids, and I tolim I dint hafta be inna pageant, Sammy babbled, ignoring Deans comment.Whoa. Slow down, dummywhyd you tell him about the pageant?He noticed I was waiting all by myself, Dean. He asked where everyone was. Sams eyes were bugged out. Why didnt you just say theyd all gone home already?Sammy leafed through a comic book. His silence was an eloquent answer. Dean sighed. Okay, well, what did he ask and what precisely did you tell him?Sam related the exchange with their father. It was freaky, Dean, likehe knew exackly how to ask so I couldnt make something up. Youre right, Dean: Dads like Superman, only hes got x-ray vision for thoughts.Yup, I said, Dads good at stuff like that, Dean agreed. Okay, so when he asks againand he willyou say that you came in to the school too late and all the parts were assigned, so they just asked you if you really wanted to be in it and you said no.Okay.Can you remember?Yeah, Sam said, nostrils flaring. Its basically what you said Miz Johnson told you, anyway. Only backwards.Wanna practice?Sam bit his lip. Okay. You be Dad.Dean cleared his throat with a wince. When he spoke, it was using as deep and growling a voice as he could manage. So, Sammy, whats this again about the pageant at school?Whaddaya mean, Dad? Sam said, wide-eyed and cherubic.Why arent you in it with the other kids?Oh. Sam nodded. Miz Johnson said I dint have to if I dint want to.Whys that?Bcause she said theyd have to take parts away from thothers to make a part for me, since we got here so late. He beamed. How was that, Dean?Pretty good. But dont grin so muchyou need a better poker face.But you wont teach me poker.You dont need to know how to play to have a poker face, dumb-butt!Sam giggled. Ryou feeling better?Sure. Im ready to run the marathon, Sammy. He would have been a lot more convincing if he hadnt started coughing. Crap, he observed when he could talk again.Dad said to tell him if you want anything.Ma little hungry. Maybe ask him if I could have some Ramen?Okay. Sam went out. His dad was sifting through a ream of photocopied pages in manila folders. Dad?His father closed the file he was reading quickly. Hey, Sammy. Hows he doing?He asked for Ramen.Dad nodded. We can do that.Gotta wash the pot, though.Yeah, I know. You have any homework?A little. Gotta draw a picture of something you do in the snow. An I have some writing.What letter are you on? Mrs. Peabody had been teaching them to write by using words that all started with the same letter. They had a different letter every assignment.T. Twenty-five words that all start with T.Okay. Dad put the stack of folders on the floor by the sofa arm. I want to take Deans temperature, anyway. Here. You set up here at the coffee table, kiddo, an Ill wash the dishes and make Dean his soup. Deal?Yessir. Dad got up and went in to talk to Dean.Sam gathered up his bookbag and dug for his supplies. He wrote his words out first, to get them out of the way. Then using a blank sheet of paper, he drew a black car shape on one side of the page, coloring in the tires as two concentric circles with white showing between. Next to this, he drew two bubble figures, one taller than the other. He colored the tall one green, because Deans puffy coat was Army green, and the short one he made blue, because his snowsuit was blue. He colored their hair in so it was clear they were facing away, toward the open white corner of the page. On the white expanse, he took a yellow crayon and wrote, SAM and next to that, DEAN. Satisfied with his masterpiece, he folded it up and put it and his spelling list into his bag. Sam, come eat, Dad called from the kitchen. They ate together at the bar counter.Can Dean come out and watch TV? Sam asked during the meal.No, hes going back to sleep.MI sleeping in your room again?I think its best, kiddo, Dad told him. You done?Yes, Sam said glumly. Evenings werent as fun when Dean wasnt able to spend time with him. Okay. Now go on and watch your shows. I want to check on Dean again.Sam went back to the living room and pulled out the remote to turn on the TV. Sitting on the floor put his head right near the cushions and the skirt. They smelled faintly of stale beer, but Sam could almost imagine it was the warm, yeasty smell of bread baking. After a few minutes, Dad came back out and invited Sam to sit with him on the couch. Sam thought he knew what was coming. He tucked himself onto his fathers lap and braced to emulate Deans best poker face.Now, go slow, Dad said, and tell me about this pageant business. Why arent you in it with the other kids?Sam took a deep breath. He knew his only shot was to stay cool. Theres a pageant, but Miz Johnson said theyd have to take lines away from thother kids, so I said I dint want to be in it, and she said okay. He was careful to keep his voice steady.And thats what they were practicing?Yup.Without you.Yessir.Hm. Thats it? Dad frowned.Sam nodded, his head banging against Dads chest. He was glad he could look away without making it obvious. Honest, Daddy.To Sams surprise, Dad gave him a squeeze. Okay.Sam twisted around to look at him. Okay? Hed been so certain Dad would detect the lie. Hed been sure Dad would demand a more thorough explanation. Luckily, he was too genuinely confused to give himself away, but he reminded himself that he had to stay calm. Dad was very, very good, and he wasnt out of the woods yet.Yeah. You said you didnt want to; she listened to you. So, okay.Sam couldnt believe his luck. Dad believed him! Unless it was a trap. Huh.What?Whoops. He hadnt meant to say anything out loud. Sam thought fast. What would Dean do? Affecting his brothers easy confidence, he shrugged. I dunno, I jusI thought youd be mad.With you? No. Why dont you go get ready for bed? You can watch more TV, but I want you in your PJs before Dean gets to sleep and you disturb him. Dad kissed his head lightly and applied a little pressure to his back. Sam slid off the couch and went readily. First, he wanted to tell Dean about his success; second, he wanted to get away quickly before Dad changed his mind and decided to probe further.Dean was sitting up, leafing through a comic book when Sam came in to change. Dad said you were sposed to go to sleep, he told him.Yup, Dean said. I just havent done it yet.While he changed, Sam related Dads uncharacteristically mild reaction to Sams explanation, and Dean agreed that it was weird, but neither could figure out why. Maybe Dad didnt care about school plays and stuff, although hed been sure to go other times. Maybe he was distracted because Dean had been sick. They couldnt decide.Anyway, its a good thing, because I bet you wouldve caved if hed put on any pressure.Would not!Whatever.Take it back.Dude, what are you, seven? Dean asked, then chuckled. Oh, wait: You are.Sam scowled and went back out to watch TV. Sitting next to Dad was cool, even if Dad was working on something, reading the files hed set aside earlier. Sam wasnt sure what Dad did, but Dean had told him it was important and that he shouldnt ask about it. Anyway, that wasnt what he wanted to know, tonight. Tonight, Sam wanted to ask about when they could go shopping, since Dean said theyd have money for their Christmas fund because they didnt get pizza the night before. But asking to go buy Christmas presents was tricky, and not just because he didnt want to interrupt. Dad thought he still believed in Santa, and Sam didnt want to disappoint Dad. Not that he didnt believe, exactly, but he wasnt as sure as he used to be.On the one hand, no matter where they went, Santa always found them. Even last year when theyd been living in Ohio, and stayed overnight with that nice Mrs. Kirkland. Sam had woken up that morning to find that several of the wrapped gifts under her tree were for him and Dean. But he knew that most of themthe socks and the Swiss army knife and even Deans gloveswere really from Dad. And even though they each had one present from Santa, Sam suddenly wasnt sure. Dad had always assured him that Santas presents (the main present, as Sam came to call it) were never boring things like clothes or school supplies. Thinking back on last Christmas, though, it seemed to him that Mrs. Kirkland and Dad had exchanged some suspiciously gleeful looks over his Ninja Turtle Sewer Playset and Deans Walkmanbefore he or his brother had opened them. It seemed like theyd already known what was inside the packages. And how was that possible, if the gifts came from Santa? Hed tried to ask Dean, but Dean just told him that Dad must have called Santa to let him know where to find them, and Santa must have told Dad what they were getting. That had satisfied Sam at the time, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Sam was pretty sure Santa was actually Dad, or at least that Dad bought the gifts and gave them to Santa, who then turned around and gave them right back. Because two Christmases ago, Sam dimly remembered, they were down in Alabama. Theyd been staying with a friend of Dads and then Dad made them leave really quickly in the middle of the night. They went to a cabin in the backwoods. Dad said it was because he wanted them to learn to track, but Dean thought it was because they were pretty much out of money. In any case, Dad had driven them into town on the Saturday before Christmas so they could get groceries and supplies, because theyd left a lot of their things behind. Dad went through the store and as they were walking back to the car, hed stopped. Damn. I forgot the aspirin, Dad said. Hed put Dean and Sam in the car with the sacks of food while he went back for the extra item.Dad had taken a long time getting the pills. When he came out, hed had a paper bag with a lot more than aspirin in it. He put the bag in the trunk, so Sam hadnt seen what was inside then. When they got back to the cabin, though, he peeked in the bag. Thered been a couple coloring books inside, and copies of Motor Trend, Car Collector, and Car and Driver. And when Christmas morning came, his present from Santa had been coloring books and new crayonsthe box with the sharpener right in it. And Santa had brought Dean the same magazines hed seen in Dads grocery bag. Hed asked Dean about that, too, and Dean said that probably Dad had to help out because the cabin wasnt marked on any of Santas maps.So if Santa did exist, he was getting an awful lot of help from Dad.That was okay, Sam thought, because he knew Santa had a big job. And Dad was usually pretty awesome, even if he did have to leave them with Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim, and even alone occasionally. If anyone could help out Santa, it was Dad. But it left open the question of whether Santa existed at all. His previous classmates all seemed to think he did. Moreover, it seemed like Dean believed, so Sam was pretty sure he was real.Which was kind of a problem, because Sam hadnt written a letter this year, and he wasnt sure there was time before Christmas for something to get to the North Pole. Kris Melrose in his class had told him that Santa had a bunch of deputies who worked in the mall. Sam had no idea how far away the mall was, but maybe, if Dean got better, they could all go. Hed use his Christmas money to get something small for Dean and Dad, from Sam, not Santa. And while they were there, Sam could tell Santas deputy what he wanted. Or maybe he should trust Dad with the information, and ask him to use his connections. But if Santa really wasnt real, and really was just Dad, then Sam didnt want to appear foolish.It was all very confusing. He thought hed disappoint Dad if he told him he didnt believe in Santa and Santa was real, but he was also afraid that if Santa wasnt real, hed make Dad sad by asking for something Dad couldnt get for him. And none of that helped him figure out what to do with his Christmas money.He really wished he could talk about it with Dean. But Dean was probably asleep by now. Sam yawned, nestling down so he could lay his head on Dads leg.To be on the safe side, he decided, hed write a letter quickly. It was less than two weeks until Christmas, but Uncle Bobby had told him that the postcard theyd sent him from Maine had reached him in five days, and from Maine to South Dakota was probably about as far as from Michigan to the North Pole. Maybe Kris Melrose was going to the mall and would deliver the letter for him. Though he wouldnt be able to buy anything if he couldnt go, too.Sam thought about his problem all the way through the reruns and Wonder Years and halfway through Growing Pains. Just as he was drifting off, he came to the only solution that made any sense: He just had to figure out how to get to the mall himself.Continue to Chapter 6

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 4/at least 15)Author: gwendolyngraceRecipient: celtic_cookieRequest terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results. Rating: PGGenre: GenWordcount (this chapter): about 3,080Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliantDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.Authors Notes: Written for the spn_thur_nights exchange. OMG, this was the chapter I thought Id never get posted! Sorry about the delaymy betas and I all had attacks of LIFE over the past week or so. But here tis. Five and possibly six should be up later this week.ThenJohn drove through snow flurries back to the apartment, exhausted, and let himself in quietly. The lights were off, but the TV was on. By its flickering light, he could see Sammy fast asleep on the sofa, one arm hanging off the cushion and almost touching the floor. John tiptoed to his room and changed out of his Santa suit, then came back out to the living room. Hey, Sammy, he said softly. What are you doing out here so late? Wheres Dean? He picked Sam upSam reflexively wrapped his arms and legs around Johns neck and torsoand carried him down the short hallway. Sammy muttered and moaned sleepily. It started with Dean and John just barely caught something that sounded like your room as he opened the door to the boys room.In the hall light, John took one look at Deans sweat-sheened skin, the way he had tossed the covers aside, and the way his breathing seemed shallow and labored, and he thought he had a good idea of why Sam had been left on his own that evening. Sammy muttered into Johns neck again, and this time he heard, Deans sick, distinctly among a bunch of other mumbled incoherences. John backed out of the doorway and put Sam to bed in his own room. He carefully hid the suit in its black bag and hung the bag on the back of the door before going to check on Dean. Dean was asleep, but feverish. John pulled the covers back over him. His skin was clammy and his cheeks were flushed bright red. A garbage pail was placed near his head, but it didnt look (or smell) like hed had to use it. John sat down on the other side of the mattress, between Dean and the window.Use Dads bed, Sammy, Dean groaned, flipping over in bed and throwing the covers aside. The pieces of Sams sleep-filled utterances clicked into place. John was glad he didnt emulate Joshuas preferred organizational technique of papering his room with his research when the boys were around. It was convenient to pin up articles and use the walls as a giant tack-board, but it was too risky. Even if Sam had orders to stay out of Johns things, he could hardly keep him out of his room altogether, and especially not on occasions like this, when Dean had given him permission to go in. And neither Sam nor Dean needed to see the images John acquainted himself with on a regular basis.Hey, buddy, its me, John said. Dad?Yeah. Howre you feeling, champ?Dean burrowed into his pillow, but his feet kicked their way out of the sheet. Mokay.Got a fever, kiddo.Mokay.Did you throw up? John settled himself against the wall, crossing his ankles. He twitched the covers over his son.Sammy tell you about that? Dean asked weakly.No, but looks like you were worried about it happening again. Sammy, Dean said in attribution. Mfine. Just tired. He wheezed and a cough racked through his body. He struggled to sit up until the hacking fit passed, then collapsed back down.Yeah, youre fine, all right. Did you take some of Sams cough medicine? Do we even have any still?Dean made a noise that John couldnt interpret, but his head moved up and down on the pillow. What time?Uh, Dean half-squeaked, half-moaned. Aboutfive? Five-thirty?Okay, time for another dose, then. John rose and went into the bathroom. He found the bottle right out on the sink, but the dosing cup was cracked. He had a tablespoon in the kitchen, so he went and got it and crouched by Dean.Sit up for a second, bud. He measured out one tablespoon while Dean struggled to lift his head. John cradled Deans head in one hand and fed him the spoonful of medicine with the other. The motion gave him flashbacks, not only to feeding both Dean and Sam when they were infants, but all the way back to when his mother used to make him take medicine when he was sick. Dean gagged a little on the cough syrup, but swallowed it dutifully.Water? John offered.Yeah.John filled a cup in the kitchen and brought it back. Dean had pushed himself to sit against the wall.Sorry, sir, he said miserably when John gave him the drink.Nothing to be sorry about, bud. Everybody gets sick sometimes.Yeah, but. Dean blinked hard.But what?I had a snowball fight at school and Jason stuffed snow down my back and thats why Im sick! Deans confession tumbled out in a rapid sequence that rose in pitch and increased in speed as he forced the words into one breath. He looked down at his lap. The light through the door caught in a tear as it fell to the covers. John realized with a shock that Dean was crying. Hey, John said gently. Dude, its okay. You didnt get sick on purpose, Dean. John put his hand on Deans shoulder. Dean swiped angrily at his eyes with his PJ sleeve. John leaned over for the box of tissues on the floor by the bed, next to the alarm clock. Anyway, you cant get sick that quickly. So whatever this is, you were probably getting it yesterday, or even the day before. Having a snowball fight had nothing to do with it.Really?Swear to God, dude.Dean sniffed noisily. John jiggled the tissue box and Dean took one. He honked his nose, coughed a bit, pulled himself together. Sorry.I said its okay.Sorry for being a baby.Well, youre sick. Ill let you get away with it this time. John smiled. He eased Deans shoulders away from the wall, rubbing his back. Does your chest feel tight?A little.Sore throat?Yeah.Head hurt?Yeah.Tummy?Not since I puked.Okay. Shivers?Before. Nowm really hot.Yeah. Youve got the flu, kiddo. Maybe strep. Well see how it goes tomorrow. Lie down; get some sleep.Mhot, Dean protested when John tried to settle him back under the covers.I know. Gotta sweat to get the fever to break. He pulled himself onto his knees to tuck Dean in. Dean grabbed his arm.Daddy? Dongo.John froze. Sam still occasionally added the syllable when he was cranky or wheedling for something, but it had probably been five years since Dean had called him that. He must have felt worse than he was letting onwhich, come to think of it, wasnt all that unusual. For either of them.Mnot going anywhere, sport. Stayin right here. He adjusted Sams pillow behind his back, crossed his ankles and got comfortable while Dean burrowed his head toward Johns thigh. Johns hand found a natural resting place on Deans shoulder. ~*~The boys alarm clock went off at the usual time. John woke quickly and shut it off before it disturbed Deans sleep, then went next door to shake Sammy.SDean okay?John drew a deep breath. Well, hes not feeling too good. He put the back of his hand against Sams forehead. How about you, kiddo?Does Dean get to stay home from school? Sam asked, ignoring his fathers attempt to check his temperature.Yup. John predicted the next question and answered it before Sam had a chance to form it. And no, you dont get to stay home just because Deans sick. Cmon, up, Sammy.John managed to get Sam up, dressed, breakfasted, and ready to go in only a little longer than the usual amount of timelonger because Sam kept insisting that Dean needed this or that little comfort, and because John kept insisting that Sam move quietly in the room where Dean was sleeping and not bother him. Once Sam had his books together, John brought him downstairs and they walked around the block to the car. Approximately four inches of snow accumulated overnight. After cleaning off his door, John started the Impala, swiped off the rear door, opened it, and let Sam sit inside its cocoon while he scraped off the rest of the windows. Even with the heater cranked, it was still cold in the car by the time he could see to drive.The one thing about Michigan was that no one really thought much about closing school due to snowstorms. It was barely worth driving the five blocks, but John didnt want Sam to walk alone. He dropped Sam off and swung over to the drug store for more supplies for Dean: juice, more chicken soup, Childrens Tylenol, cold medicine, and Vicks. He picked up a travel-size thermometer, too, since the one hed bought when Sam had been ill the previous year had broken in the med kit.When he came back to the apartment, he checked on Dean, who was still out like a light. He put on a fresh pot of coffee. The numbers for both boys schools were tacked to the fridge. John pulled the information for South, took it into the living room where the phone sat, and called the school to report Deans absence. It was still too early to call the store, or anywhere else, for that matter, but he could organize his findings from yesterday and call around later. Dean being sick was inconvenient, but couldnt be helped.A noise in the room alerted him and he came in quickly. You okay? he asked, turning on the light. Dean was kicking his covers away.Gotta pee, Dean muttered. His voice was small and squeaky. He rolled off the mattress onto the floor, on hands and knees. It seemed to be taking him a long time to stand up.Planning on crawling? John asked. He wanted to pick Dean up, but knew better than to offer.Workingon it, Dean told him. He used the wall and made it to his feet, then lurched past his father and across the hall to the bathroom. He came out a few minutes later. John brought him two Childrens Tylenol capsules and a glass of juice.Drink this slowly, but drink it all, okay?Yessir. In the light, John saw that Deans color was a little better, but his eyes were still fever-bright and his cheeks were flushed. Sitting up against the wall, Dean swallowed the pills and drank the juice as ordered. Then John made him lie back down. Within minutes, Dean was sleeping fitfully again.John pulled a chair in from the living room and sat by Deans side, paging through his journal, working through his notes.After about an hour, John figured he could move to the living room and make his calls. He started with the store. Next he called Jane Kimmel, the woman who had been injured the day before. Hello?Jane Kimmel? he asked. This is John McIntyreI was at the mall when you fell. I said Id call to find out how youre doing.Oh. Yes, I remember. The doctor says its a clean break, but Ill be laid up for a while. Thank you for calling.I wondered if you could tell me exactly what happened? John asked quickly before she could politely hang up. Whatever you remember.Is that necessary?Actually, yes. You see, Im looking into some problems with crowd control over at Santas Workshop, so anything you could tell me would help me figure out how to keep it from happening again.Jane was silent for a moment. Im not sure it was anything the Workshop people did. I was standing in line waiting for my son and I stepped away. I must have got my coat caught in the rope or something, because I felt a tug down by my knee. When I twisted my leg to get free, I lost my balance. I dont know what happened next, but I felt something snap. The doctor says I sprained my knee going down. Then that heavy pole landed on my leg and I screamed. It really hurt. She paused.Im sure it did, John offered, because she expected him to say something.The next thing I knew, all these people were standing over me. Including you. And you were asking for coats and ordering people to call the ambulance. Thank you again, by the way.John nodded, remembered she couldnt see him on the phone, and muttered a noncommittal acknowledgment. Do you recall seeing anything strange just before you tripped?Like what?Wellfor example, anyone who didnt look like they belonged? Or someone where they probably shouldnt have been?Everyone either had a costume or they were standing in line for Santa, Jane told him. Butas for people being where they shouldnt, there was that one elf.Yes? John prompted. What about him? Her?Her. She wasshe was walking along the lines, and then she crossed right into the display. I figured she was taking a short cut or something. Are they allowed to do that?John grunted. Not usually. Where did she go?Well, thats the thing. I didnt see her come out the other side. I must have just lost track of her in the tree branches.She walked into the Christmas tree?Well, not into it, Im sure. But in that direction. It was kind of odd.And she disappeared.I didnt say that. I just didnt see her again.What did she look like?Oh, blonde, long straight hair. Maybe in her mid-twenties?John asked a few more careful questions to help identify his new prime suspect. One last thing, Mrs. Kimmel: You said you were standing in line. Is that all you were doing?Thats all.Then why did you move away from the line?OhI was just getting out my last cigarette. I was going to throw away the pack.I see, John said, though it confused him more than ever. This spirit, or whatever it was, seemed obsessed with trash. At least one of the victims so far had been something of a litterbug and trashcans had been one of its chosen weapons. But if Jane had been about to throw out her trash, why would the spirit be angry at her? It made no sense. Well. Ive taken up enough of your time. I hope your leg doesnt ruin your Christmas.You and me both, Mr. McIntyre. Happy holidays.He made a couple more calls, leaving messages but not reaching anyone. A little while later, he let himself into the boys room quietly. Dean was sleeping, but he had nestled into the blanket and was shaking with chills. John checked his watch; it was about time for another dose of cold medicine, anyway. He brought in the other blanket from his bed and draped it over his son. Then he poured a little water in a cup and fetched a couple capsules from the pill bottle.Hey, bud, he said softly as he lowered himself to the floor by Deans mattress. Got some more medicine for you.Dean snuffled and moaned as he sat up. John felt his forehead and frowned. Let me take your temperature before you take these. He got the thermometer. With an expert wrist flick, he shook the thermometer down below room temp and held it out to Deans mouth. Dean shot him a mutinous glare.Mfinemmph! John stuck the thermometer in when Dean spoke.Under your tongue, dude, John instructed. If your fever stays up high much longer, were gonna find a free clinic for something stronger than the Tylenol.Dean didnt have to speak to communicate what he thought about that.A few minutes later, John put an end to Deans enforced silence. He held the thermometer against his index finger and twisted it to find the readings. Hundred and two, kiddo, came his verdict, and with it the sentence: more Tylenol. Hows your throat?Kinda tight, Dean admitted.How bout your tummy? I can put water onthink you can manage some tea and a little toast?Dean turned a little green around the edges of his face, but he sighed. Maybe some toast would be good.Tea? John pressed.Dean made a face.Itll help your throat, John reasoned. I think theres honey from the Chicken McNuggets last week.Dean shrugged and nodded solemnly. Okay.John got back with the makeshift meal and sat with Dean while he worked on his toast and choked down the tea.Grownups drink this stuff? he asked after managing about half the mug.John laughed. Lots of em.Huh.Hows that toast?Dry.Yup. Think its gonna stay down?Dean shrugged. Mtired.Okay. John took away the remains of Deans foodmost of the crusts and the half-mug of teaand let Dean cocoon himself back in his blankets. By the time he came back from the kitchen, Dean had thrown aside the cover from Johns bed.Too hot, he complained.Thats good, though, John told him. Means the medicine and the tea are working. He folded the blanket so that it was within Deans reach. In case you need it. Im just in the living room, if you need me. Okay?He heard gagging ten minutes later, and came in time to rush Dean into the bathroom. Suppressing his own gag reflex at the smell of sick kid, he held Deans head, then gave him water to sip.No more tea, Dean said weakly. Hed lost the Tylenol, too. John gave him half a dose, in case it didnt stay put.Once he settled Dean again and the poor kid was really asleep, John went back out to his phone calls. Using the company information Lyle Olohan had given him, John found someone who could supply him with a list of the employees at Santas Workshop. Hed have to drive out to get it; their offices were in a complex not far from the mall. But he could check the records that evening, and find out who Miss Elf might beif she was even on the books, and not a phantom as he suspected.If he left within the hour, he could pick up Sammy on the way home. He was worried about leaving Dean alone, though.He checked on his son again. Dean was snoring louder than a bear in hibernation. John promised himself Dean would be fine, and hed make his errand a quick one.Continue to Chapter 5

So. First off... are you an artist? Would you like to draw a possible cover?We're looking for cover art for "Bad-Ass Faeries II...Just Plain Bad!"The cover of the first book was by Amy Brown. Unfortunately she's not available for a second one.So if you're interested, talk to me.Second: My brain, people...Let me say that I don't pay attention to celebrity gossip: who's dating, who's spawning, etc. You should know this because apparently, I am Yente. Here's my story (and I'm sticking to it!):I'm plotting out an SPN fic that involves flashbacks to Wee!Chesters, during a time when John was "dating" an OFC. The OFC is a widow (just as John's a widower) but I'd already decided that her husband's death was a congenital heart defect...and that he died while jogging. If that sounds familiar, it's because it's the death that JDM's character, Judah Botwin, had in Weeds.Consequently, I had already decided to sort of base John's OFC interest (physically) loosely on Mary Louise Parker...because I thought they made a good couple in said show, Weeds.Yesterday I read the article on Jeffrey Dean Morgan in the recent whatever-it-was magazine, don't remember the title, can't be arsed, someone posted it on LJ.Who's he dating? Who's he been hooked up with for a while? (POST-Weeds, mind)Yes.Mary. Louise. Parker.MY BRAIN, people. Sigh.

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 3/?) Author: gwendolyngraceRecipient: celtic_cookieRequest terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results. Rating: PGGenre: GenWordcount (this chapter): about 4,770Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliantDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.Authors Notes: I'm thinking this will probably wind up being about 12-14 chapters altogether. Thanks as always to etakyma, beta extraordinaire. ThenDean sulked through the rest of the morning. It wasnt fair that Mrs. Fontana was forcing him to give a present to someone in class. He hadnt looked at his slip of paper, more out of defiance than anything else. He couldnt even do anything about it, becausewell, because she had called his bluff. The last teacher who hadnt believed him had been Ms. Wexler, his second third grade teacher (after Mrs. Durang, before Mrs. Holland). But Ms. Wexler had also been challenging in a good way. She was funny and she made him think, and when he answered her questions, she had really listened to what he had to say. Mrs. Fontana was justannoying. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that she had pulled off her glasses and made nice as a trick of her own. And that was so not fair. Teachers were supposed to be trustworthy. The whole thing made his stomach turn a little and gave him a headache.When he opened his lunch bag, his stomach protested at the mere thought of bologna and cheese. He managed to trade it for peanut butter. He choked down half the sandwich, but the peanut butter made his throat hurt, and didnt feel too good landing, either, so he set the rest aside in case he got hungry later.Mr. Jasper and Ms. DeLuca made them all bundle up for recess. By the time they all had their boots, coats, scarves, and hats on, they only had half the time left. Dean wandered out onto the snow-covered playing field, in no mood to play. With all his snow gear on, Deans peripheral vision wasnt the greatest. The first inkling he had that anyone was plotting against him was the smack of a snowball against his ear. Dean whirled around toward the source. Mike Stakowski waved at him merrily. Dean responded quickly. The nearby jungle gym provided good cover, but less snow within easy reach meant less ammo. Dean opted instead for the see-saw base. He ducked behind it just as Mike lobbed a second snowball. Hey, Dean! Jill Hingenberg called out, skidding to her knees in the snow next to him. I can help you stockpile. She started scooping up snow and rounding it into missiles before he could answer.Mike soon had a partner, too, and within five minutes they each had a couple more reinforcements. Over on Deans team, Jill turned out snowballs at a prodigious rate, Kevin Lansings aim was almost as good as Deans, and Nate Durang threw his snowballs as fast as he could make them. Mikes team, based off the sandbox area, consisted of Natalie Griffin, Rebecca Rosenburg, and Jason Cartwright. Natalies speed wasnt as high as Mikes, but her aim was deadly. Dean popped his head up to check range at one point and Natalie had been waiting. The snowball hit him smack in the face before he had a chance to duck away.Whoa! Kevin laughed while Dean spit snow out of his mouth. Right, gonna be that way about it? Dean muttered. He picked up two snowballs and broke cover. He swerved in a running crouch for the closer vantage point of the swingset, using the thick A-frame poles for protection. Natalie leaned out from her corner of the sandbox to aim. Dean lobbed one of the snowballs toward her and immediately ran forward again, low to the ground the way Dad had taught him. Hes going in! Dean heard Nate yell. He hooked around to the side of the sandbox. At point blank range, he threw the snowball at Mike, then scooped more snow into his arms and tossed it toward the little army without bothering to mold it first. The effect was not unlike splashing in a pool.Rebecca shrieked in excited fear, Natalie tried making a snowball but was overwhelmed by snow, and Jason tackled Dean to the snow. Seconds later, the rest of Deans squadron arrived, abandoning their base to back him up. Jill alone stayed behind to offer covering fire. She threw a snowball and made two more while the others reinforced Dean.Dean wrapped his leg around Jason and flipped the other boy into the snow. He scrambled away, but in the snow, he couldnt get any leverage. Mike caught his ankle and tried to pull his leg out from under him. Dean twisted, but the snow shifted underneath him and he fell despite his effort to shake Mike off. As soon as he hit the spongy ground, he rolled away.A shrill whistle disrupted them from any further horseplay. Ms. DeLuca was waving at them to come in. Dean climbed to his feet and offered a hand to Mike. Mikes eyes widened at something behind Dean. Before Dean could decide whether Mike was bluffing, he felt severe cold on his neck. It was wet and so cold it almost burned. Dean gasped and whirled around. Jason was cackling like a maniac, brushing snow off his gloves.Sorry! Jason choked out between bouts of laughter. Couldnt resist!Yeah, no problem, Dean said, forcing his shoulders to relax. I probably woulda done the same thing.The whistle blew again. Mr. Jasper started walking toward them. Come on, we better go in, Natalie said, tugging on Nates arm. That was awesome! Dude, whered you learn all that stuffdyou take karate? Mike asked Dean as they headed inside.My dad was a Marine, Dean said proudly. The snow down his back was melting slowly, but not slowly enough. Dean pulled his jacket away from his back and dug with wet gloves for the tail of his shirt. Cool, Mike said, his eyes widening in admiration. He grinned. Jason really got you, huh?Yeah.Here, Mike pulled off his gloves to help. They got the snow out, but not before Deans shirt had been pretty well wet down.Later that afternoon, Mike sat next to Dean in Social Studies. It was kinda cool to hang out with someone else his own age. Jill and Natalie also volunteered to join Mike and Dean in a group discussion in class, and instead of talking about Civic Responsibility, they relived the battle. The back of Deans shirt was still damp. Though the classroom was warm, his back felt cold. He shivered through Jills improvised answers to Mr. Burleighs questions about the benefits of energy conservation. How about you, Dean? Mr. Burleigh asked.Huh?Do you agree with Jill about fossil fuels?Dean sneezed.Well take that as a comment on the weather and not Jills position, Mr. Burleigh said to the amusement of the class. What other forms of energy do we use all the time?Dean stammered an answer. In his next class, he sat as close to the heat register as he could get.At last the end of the day arrived. Deans coat hadnt dried completely, but he put it on stoically. He found the driest part of his scarf to wind around his neck. Mike found him just as he was shaking out his hat.Hey.Hey.You look at your Secret Santa thing?Nope, Dean confided.Heh, yeah. Mike pulled his coat on. You walk, dont you?Yup. Dean wasnt sure where Mike was going. But more than that; he wasnt sure how to talk to Mike about much other than snowball fighting tactics. He certainly wasnt interested in revealing family secrets to a relative stranger. Mike sensed his reluctance. R you mad?No, Dean said quickly. JustI gotta pick up my kid brother on the way home. An I dont feel good. As the words slipped out, Dean realized they were true. He didnt feel good. He was still shivering inside his coat and his head and stomach still felt a little achy. They had Tylenol at home; he decided hed take some when they got there.Oh. Sorry. See you tomorrow? Mike asked hopefully.Yeah, Dean said. He gave Mike a weak smile. See ya.He walked briskly down Elm and Division, and was sweating by the time he reached Sams school. Sammy was waiting just inside the door. He had put his snow pants on over his jeans, but his coat was draped over a bench near the entrance. Dean came inside and pushed past Sam, bending over the drinking fountain. Get your jacket on, Dean said, swiping at his forehead, which was beaded with sweat.Sam pulled his coat on and laboriously struggled with the zipper. Dean wanted nothing more than to open his own zips, but he hoped he could get Sam ready and get back outside before he overheated. He pulled Sams hood up and tugged on his brothers idiot mittens.Ready?Uh-huh.Okay. Come on, Dean said brusquely. He grabbed Sams hand and dragged him along behind him.Dean, whats wrong? Sam asked as they left the building.Nothin, I just wanna get home, Dean muttered.Do we get to order pizza? Sam asked.I dunno yet, Dean snapped.Are you sure youre okay?Im fine!Sam stopped in his tracks, slipping his hand out of Deans. Dean took three additional steps before he realized Sam had halted. He turned.You dont sound fine, Sam observed. Youre mad.Im tired, Sammy. Come on.It hasnt started snowing, Sam pointed out. You said it was gonna snow.I said it was sposed to, thats not the same thing.They made it home, but not before Deans throat had begun to tickle and burn a little. Dean told Sam to do his homework in front of the TV. He stripped off and changed into his PJs, digging out a warm pair of rag wool socks, and pulled on sweats as a makeshift bathrobe. He sat on the sofa with Sam for a while, trying to do his homework. Tylenol! he said to himself, and shuffled to the bathroom for the pills. He was used to getting painkillers for Dad, but usually when he had a pain or something, his father gave him one pill, so he opened the bottle and shook out a single capsule. He swallowed it down with a little tap water. When he came back, Sam said, Im hungry. Sighing, he checked the cupboard: Dad had stocked the shelves with chicken flavor Ramen, more canned ravioli, and even regular pasta and sauce. Ramen or ravioli, Sam? Dean called from the kitchen.Is it chicken Ramen?Yeah.Okay. Dean pulled out two packages and poured water for a double batch. The tickle in the back of his throat had turned to an ache. He was still shivering in his layers. While the water was boiling, he crept into his fathers room and found an oversized flannel shirt, which he added to his sweats. He went back to the kitchen just as the water started bubbling. He tipped in the noodles and stirred them, then sat at the counter until the noodles were done. He tore open the bullion packets and stirred again. Sammy, come eat.Dean gave Sam all the noodles and just enough broth to cover them. He kept the rest of the broth for himself. It was salty and hot, and made the back of his throat feel numb going down.It took him a few minutes after drinking the broth to feel like he could move again. He was so tired, and while his throat had benefited from the steam and the salt, his tummy didnt seem to appreciate it when it hit bottom. He told himself he just needed to lie down. He put his bowl in the sink. Dont stay up too late, okay? he told Sam.What about you?Mgoina bed. Dean burped; his stomach lurched and he hurried to the bathroom. Sam jumped out of his seat and followed him.Ryou sick? he asked unnecessarily. Dean lunged for the toilet, making it just in time. Sammy hovered over him, unsure what to do. Eventually Sam dragged the step-stool over to the sink and poured a glass of water. Sam held out the cup. Dyou want this?GuhNo. Dean leaned against the wall. He was so tired and his mouth tasted metallic, like acid. He fumbled for the lever and flushed the toilet. Sam, look in the med kit. See if we still have that bottle of grape stuff.From when I was sick last year?Yeah.Sam dug under the sink for the bag of their extensive medical supplies. He pushed aside Ace bandages, hoarded Darvocet and assorted heavy-duty painkillers, and even a few bags of saline and ringers pilfered from an incident two years ago when Dad had stayed overnight in an Emergency Room. Dean braced himself for Sam to ask about that, what had been wrong and why Dad had been so injured, but he must have seen that Dean was in no shape to answer, because Sam merely pushed past them and dug deeper in the bag. In the far corner, he found a plastic bottle of childrens cold medicine. The plastic dispenser cup had cracked, but the bottle was still half full. Here! He held it up triumphantly.Great. Hand it over, Dean instructed weakly. The cups broke, Sam said.Dont care. Dean twisted the childproof cap, but the syrupy liquid had dried inside and made the seal sticky. Shit.Here, Sammy held out his hand. He didnt even point out that Dean wasnt supposed to swear. Dean surrendered the bottle. Sam pressed down and applied pressure. The cap twisted free. He handed the bottle back and Dean swigged directly from it. Blech, he said.Ryou gonna be okay? Sam asked tentatively. He took the bottle and put it down on the sink, next to the toothpaste.Yeah. Just need to get some sleep, I think.Ryou gonna yark again?Dunno. Hope not.Need help?Nah, Dean said. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled across the hall to their room, collapsing onto the mattress.Sam pulled one of the blankets over his big brother. Want me to bring a bucket over? he asked.Dean groaned. Sam brought a garbage pail. Its right here, okay?Dean muttered something that might have been Thanks. Sam stood by the bed, biting his lip. Dean could hear him breathing, trying to be quiet.Sammy?Yeah, Dean, Im here. Whaddaya need?Go way.You sure?Lemme sleep, Sammy.Sam shuffled his feet. Oh. Okay. He moved around the room. Im just gonna change into my PJs now, okay? So I dont bug you later.Good plan. Hey.What?Go to bed in Dads room. I dont want you getting this.Mnot sposed to go in Dads room. His stuffs in there and sos the fire escape. Someone could get in that way. Sam recited this like a litany, and Dean couldnt decide whether his brother was just being deliberately difficult or genuinely thought he was being tested.I know. S'okay this one time.Oh. Sure you dont want anything else?Just turn off the light, Sammy.Sorry.Dean grunted appreciatively. He settled the blanket around himself and felt little hands tucking the ends around him. Sammyget out.Just tryna help, Sam said. His voice quavered as he spoke.Dean took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. Sammy, mgonna be fine, okay? Just need to sleep.Yeah. Okay. Ill leave you alone. Small feet padded away from the mattress and the light clicked out.~*~John went to the store shortly after seeing the boys off, put away the groceries, then grabbed his costume in its garment bag and headed to the mall to poke around before his store shift. He dropped off his suit in the locker room so he wouldnt have to carry it around with him. He found the manager in charge of hiring for Santas Workshop, a balding pencil-pusher in his fifties whose name was Lyle Olohan, and asked about whether theyd found a replacement for the injured Santa yet.Youre not one of mine, Lyle said.John explained that hed been working at the Macys, but that he could use the extra work. Two kids with pretty big Christmas lists, he said. I cant get overtime there.The manager lit up a cigarette and puffed before answering. Okay. So happens I havent found anyone to replace Del. Can you cover this Saturday, 10-6?John pulled out his journal and flipped to the page where hed noted down his store shifts. Yes. Hed hoped to take the boys to the firing range, but the job came first.Youre hired.Thanks. They spent a few minutes filling out basic paperwork. John stood as if to leave, turned back in a classic Columbo maneuver. Is the guyDel? Is he going to be okay?Lyle sighed. Hes in pretty bad shape. But hes supposed to check out from St. Marys tomorrow.I heard he said a bunch of the ornaments came flying at him. IsI mean, does he drink?Del? Lyle frowned. Nots I know of. Truth is, weve had a run of bad luck this season.John played dumb. What kind of bad luck?Pranks, I think, mostly. But some weird coincidences. Mothers tripping on our wiring, even after I know its been taped down. Maintenance moving the trash cans into our stanchion lines. One woman wants us to pay for her fur cleaning billsays its our fault someone bumped into her and spilled hot coffee on her mink.Why you, huh? John commiserated. Tell me about it. If I were a superstitious man, Id say weve been cursed.So, John said, grinning conspiratorially, the pay for this gig. Its cash, right?The manager laughed. I like you, Winchester. Good to have a sense of humor for this job. Tell ya, the main reason I have to let people go isnt the drinking. Its that they lose their cool around the kids.John smiled. Like I said, got two of my own. They try a mans patience, but theyre good kids.Not all ours are. And the mothers! Jesus God, I think the kids wouldnt behave half so badly if it werent for the mothers. Ask me, most ofem deserve to be tripped, or whatever.You said you think its pranksters? Not anyone who works for you, though?Cold feet? Lyle lit another cigarette. He offered the pack to John, who refused politely. I been doin this for almost twenty years. Ive gotten pretty good at hiring people who can take the pressure. I know the difference between an employee blowing off steam and someone whos out for mischief. The stuff going on here, this year? Its mischief.Anything like this happen before?Five or six years ago, there was a rash of pranks, but nothing like this. Harmless stuffmustaches painted on the skating girls, graffiti on the signs, even an inflatable sex doll stuffed into the Workshop window. Turned out it was one of the college fraternitiestheyd bribed the guard to refocus the security cameras while they were up to their tricks. No evidence of that, this time, though. Nothing shows up on the security tapes at all. I dunno. Whoevers behind this stuff has a beef of some kind, I think. Ive tried to tell the sheriff, but he thinks its another bunch of teenagers.Well, if I see anything suspicious, Ill be sure to point it out.Thanks.They chatted for a while longer until John could bring the conversation around to the decorations, specifically the animatronic skaters. Weve had those decorations for probably fifteen years. Bought em from a mall that was closingthey got killed during the oil crisisand theyre kinda dated, but they work. I been asking the mall management for an update and they keep telling me next year, maybe. He shook his head. Somehow when budget season rolls around, in June, no ones thinking about Christmas.I hear ya, John said, and found himself talking about an age-old argument he and Mike could never settle, about just when they were going to add a collision bay to the garage. John had figured the money to be made in a limited collision enterprise would justify the expense and one or two extra mechanics. Mike wasnt interested in diversifying. It seemed like another lifetime now, but the anecdote forged a connection, convinced Lyle that John was just a regular guy whod fallen on some hard times. Nothing to see here, John thought, move along. Or as Dean and Sam might have put it, These are not the droids youre looking for.~*~John left the office with enough time to take a stroll past the area before reporting for his shift. His conversation with the manager had effectively put the kibosh on his theory about the animatronic decorations. For one thing, theyd had the decorations for years, and never had an incident before; for another, the only history of accidents had turned out to be mundane vandals. But Santas Workshop was unmistakably the locus for the paranormal activity, so the only thing to do was go back to the drawing board: time for Surveillance and Recon.He picked up a cup of coffee at the Food Court and wandered in search of a good vantage point. Right across from the open area where the village sat under skylights, there was a low wall that enclosed one of the running fountains. Finding an open section of wall, John seated himself and pulled out his journal. He looked over his sketch, adding to it and noting behavior of interest as he watched the line progress.In the little department store outfit, Santa more or less remained in the childrens section. There was only one photographer on at any time, and there were only three or four elves to work the diminutive crowds. The operation was rinky-dink compared to the central village. On peak hours here, as many as ten elvesin this case, they ranged from teenaged young men to coeds from Valley State, and even a few Mrs. Claus candidatesmonitored the lines and kept the kids entertained while waiting for the main event. Three photographers and their assistants took turns snapping pictures and taking orders for prints to send out along with Christmas cards and thank-you notes. It seemed to John more like an enterprising conglomerate than a small-time treat for kids.Lyle Olohan had been certain the pranks werent being caused by one of his employees. But, as John watched, he saw a number of people who might be able to shed light on the situation, even if they werent part of the occurrences themselves. He made some notes. After two hours and at least three mothers wanting to know why he was watching the children so intently, it was just about time for Johns paying gig. He stood up and turned to throw away his coffee cupand heard someone scream.John whipped back around to see that a mother had coiled her leg in the rope and tripped over one of the stanchion posts. The heavy pole had hit her leg and pinned it. A crowd started to gather around her. John pushed his way in.Maam, are you all right?It hurtsGodI think I broke something.Someone call 911, John barked. Do you have any idea what happened?I wasowI was waiting for Timmy to get his picture. Timmy? Wheres Timmy? An elf appeared with a little boy about Sammys age.What happened to her? Timmy asked. He grabbed Johns sleeve. Is she okay? Mom?Shell be all right, just Could you all give us some room? John looked up at the elf who had brought the kid. Why dont you get Timmy here another candy cane? John suggested. The elf, a rather pretty, young brunette, nodded with wide eyes and brightly invited Timmy to go with her back to the sleigh, where they handed out the tiny candy canes as a reward for being good while in line.John carefully lifted the pole from the womans ankle. Someone produced a coat to use as a pillow and he laid her foot down gently onto it. From the way the bones crunched and she moaned, shed definitely broken a few bones. Are you cold? he asked.A little.Its shock. Hey, you, he pointed to another elf standing over them, go get another coat or a blanket or something. And you, he continued to another woman who had been standing next to the victim, see if theres anything in the sleigh we can use as a pillow. Well make you a little more comfortable until the paramedics get here, he said to the hapless woman.How on earth did you get tangled in the ropes like that? he asked kindly.I really dont know, she told him. I waswaitingand I rummaged through my purse for a cigaretteI must have taken a step or something, and not seen the rope, because the next thing I knew, I was falling.Huh. Had youspoken to any of the staff here before it happened?No. Well, yes. I had ordered our prints. But thats all. Wheres Timmy?John looked around and made a mental note of the three people working the photography ordering stations. Hed interview them later. He caught sight of the brunette and the teary-eyed kid, slurping on a candy cane near the rope line exit. Timmys fine. Hes with one of the girls. Theyll keep him distracted. John looked up at one of the elves. Where are the medics?Cindy called them; theyre on their way.John looked at his watch. His shift started in five minutes, and he still had to change. He smiled at Timmys mother. Listen, I have to go, he told both her and the elf standing nearby. Keep her warm, keep the foot immobile and elevated, and dont give her anything for the pain yet. Let the medics do that. To the woman, he said, Id like to be able to check on you later, make sure you got fixed up okay. Do you mind if I write down your name and a number where I can get in touch?He pulled out his journal and wrote down the information she gave him. Thanks, Jane. Ill call tomorrow and see how youre doing. Is that all right?Itll make an interesting conversation with my husband, but yes. Thank you.John got to his feet and dashed across the mall to the Macys. He let himself back into the store locker room, changed, and relieved the haggard Santa (a 60-something guy by the name of Glenn). It was just his luck, first that the incident had occurred the moment hed looked away, and second that it happened just when he couldnt stay around to look into it. But he had a few people to follow-up on, and hed call the woman back to press her for more details after she got fixed up. At least her injury wasnt fatal. Hard as it was, he had to move thoughts of the investigation to the back burner for the next few hours. As a progression of tots was brought to him, he listened to their requests. Half the time, he wished hed been able to do this kind of thing for the boys, in their school or even the community center Mary had wanted them to join. The rest of the time he was glad hed concealed the details of this job from them. He could think of no quicker way to disillusion Sam about the mysteries of Christmas than to reveal that his old man was masquerading as Santa for money; Dean would never let him live down the indignity. John could just imagine the ways in which his boy would find the opportunity to subtly needle him about it for the rest of their natural lives. Whether or not Dean still believed in Santa, he would never characterize their current source of income as cool.If nothing else, the kids wish lists convinced John that he wasnt doing such a horrible job as a father. The gift on the top of Sams list was one of the most requested toys that season. John figured hed better get the store to hold one for him if he wanted to be able to lay his hands on it. It was good to know that, despite everything, the boys were still normal enough to want what the other kids wanted.Continue to Chapter 4

A couple little things:First off, the programming deadline for Portus is MONDAY. Get your programming proposals in! We need round tables! Papers! Panels! There's a wonderful article about all the programming options, with LOTS of great ideas, that went out in an email which you can see here. The "Call for Proposals" is avaialble here.C'mon, folks! Rediscover what made you fall in love with HP in the first place! The Portus team have some amazing plans in store, and I can't say enough about making friends and meeting like-minded geeks at one of HPEF's events.Second...some errands to run today. My phone has been acting up, so I need to take it to the Spring store and see if they can fix it. Problem is that this is my only phone, so I can't leave it for a week while they do whatever they do. Has anyone else had this come up? Will they give me a temporary phone, or is the tendency just to switch it out for a new one (in which case, I don't want to pay for an upgrade, really)? I do have technology protection, thank heavens.Third...I'm very smart. I outsmarted myself: in a nutshell, I sat down with my finances last night and discovered that six months ago, when I started the new job, I started budgeting as if I were already paying a car loan payment of a reasonable size. This means not only that I actually have some money (not a lot, but some) socked away for a downpayment, more importantly, I don't have to go back and figure out how to squeeze my budget--because I'm already squeezing!Now, I'm not going to run out and do anything frivolous, like go to EyeCon (sorry!), because I still think money's tight and it's probably not the best idea to plan for that. Especially sinceThree-A: The gods must have figured out that money wasn't quite as tight as I thought around the same time I did (or maybe a little earlier). Because this morning, in the post, I received a notification from my insurance company that they're slapping me with a surcharge because of the traffic ticket I got last October. The one I'm appealing next week. I have to find out if there's some automatic retraction deal, where if my appeal in traffic court is upheld, the surcharge is dropped, or whether I still need to then appeal the surcharge, as well--to the tune of $50 non-refundable filing fee (half the amount of the ticket in the first place) and the increase of my insurance by about $300 for the next three years. It's the gift that keeps on giving, folks!And fourth...I auditioned the other night for Mystery of Edwin Drood. And...it didn't go very well. That is, I thought it was going fine. I did something both wise and stupid, in that I changed my mind about my second song and decided to sing something in my top range (to show I had one), but I went up on the lyrics, due to not having sung the song seriously for something like 15 years. Yeah...I know. But in the grand scheme, that wasn't all that important. The dance went fine--I was actually one of the better dancers in the group they had. But when it came time for the readings, I sat...and sat...and she let me read for the role of Drood ONCE. That was the only time I got up to read all night.And when I did? Okay...a couple people were trying their hand at accents (with varying rates of success). Just before I started, I asked the director, "Do you want the accents or not?"Theatre folks, you know, and the rest of you, let me 'splain: This was not a stupid question. Some directors *do* want you to show off and give them what you've got in an audition situation. Some director's *don't* because they don't want to be distracted by the accent, or they don't want you to be worrying about intonation when you should be thinking character, OR they plan to go through some dialect coaching later with the whole cast and the accent question just isn't something they want to deal with in the audition process.So it wasn't an inappropriate question.Her answer? Was totally inappropriate and uncalled for. She said, in a HIGHLY condescending tone, "Well, that would be your choice. But," and here she took on a sing-song kind of rhythm, really stressing her iambs, "If it were me-ee, and I were auditioning for a role where accents were reQUIred... I might think about throwing one in, if I had one."Seriously? I wanted to punch her.So then I read, and I sat some more, and then she had virtually EVERY OTHER WOMAN in the house read a particular Drood/Rosa scene...except me. Yeah, thanks, lady. Thanks for your professional conduct.Okay. Realistically, I know that being in Sound of Music creates some conflicts, but honestly? They're not horrible. I did go up after and clarified the performance dates and the major rehearsal weeks, which admittedly do sound like they'd be a bit of a problem for the major rehearsal period of the show. So a large part of why I didn't get to read may have been that she just looked at the conflicts and decided "No Way."But here's my MAJOR PET PEEVE about auditioning. If you're not going to ask me to read again? Just fucking let me go home. Don't torture me by making me watch EVERY OTHER PERSON there get to read the role you know I'm interested in, while it becomes more and more clear that you're not going to ask me to read again. Moreover, you could at least ask me to read again to even things out and not make it so BLATANTLY OBVIOUS that you're already favouring someone else in the room.So, if I ever decide to cross the divide and direct? At auditions, I pledge that I will *either* let people read as evenly and diversely as I can, OR if there's someone I just know I'm not going to need, I'll read that person FIRST and then LET THEM GO HOME.Gods, I hate that. And when they call me to tell me, sadly, that they can't use me, I'm definitely going to say something about her attitude during the audition itself. There was just NO call for her to be so bitchy about a simple and reasonable question.Well. Laundry should be done, so time to get going. Oh - there should be fic, maybe later this evening. I have a chapter to beta *and* I really need to move my ass on reviewing the submissions for "Bad-Ass Faeries II."

Man, I'm tired. I have a rehearsal this evening yet, but I'm home and I'm sort of caught up, by which I mean I have read emails and gone through what all y'all had to say and I've pulled out tabs for things to follow-up on.But here's a quick (lightning-quick) update:1. Happy Birthday, heidi8!2. Weekend was, if not a rousing success, at least something of an accomplishment. grouchyoldcoot got much of the cleaning out of the house done that he wanted; he spent time with his brother talking; he did not kill his mother. All to the good! We returned to the house on our way out of Athens on Monday and placed Karen's ashes in her bedroom, which he interprets as a "win" because she would not have wanted to be kept in their mother's house. We successfully drove back to Pittsburgh and were able to see Chadd, Morgen, and Josie for a little while before Josie (and Chadd) both had to go to bed (Josie because it was sleep time, and Chadd because he's on nights this week). I introduced Joel to "Pushing Daisies" and he liked it - of course. I made it home despite there being more snow here over the weekend than was predicted before I left.3. etakyma has vacated her work office and will now be working from home. We'll see how this goes! She successfully managed to retain some objects that we will make use of, including some things that will make my life easier. I'll have to rearrange my furniture a bit, but that's okay - plenty of time to do that.4. I have an audition on Thursday! Yoicks. Have to decide what to use as an audition piece. I'm thinking "Dulcinea" from La Mancha. It's for a role written for a woman playing a man, so I want something not automatically in the lower range, but that isn't a clear female song.5. Wellesley Capers is coming up, too, and I also don't know what to sing. I'll think of something.6. Must really start looking in earnest for a car, just so it doesn't sneak up on me. Argh.7. Work tomorrow is going to SUCK - not because it sucks, but because I'll spend most of the day outside of the office, which does not help me catch up at all. I'm going to try to get there early (for me) for maximum catchup time before my external meetings start. Zoicks, Nargh, and other expressions of frustration.8. Chapter 4 is STILL with the beta's and I finished the draft of Chapter 11, ready to start Chapter 12. I'm signing up for spn_j2_bigbang. I think.9. Remember: We must rage against the heteronormative, Judeo-Christo-centric monogamarchy!

There is more to SPN fandom than LJ. Remember supernatural.tv more often.http://www.supernatural.tv/archives/extra/benbellacomp.htmHm.Suggestions?x-posting to wee_chesters.

I totally forgot that I entered a fic in a challenge that involved voting. I forgot to plug it and didn't know when voting opened... and then it closed before I'd plugged it.Dumb.I thought there was still time, but apparently the voting that is still open is only for the fics that received the top number of votes in the primary.Well, y'all can go vote for bardicvoice's Breathing LessonshereSadly, my little fic only received one vote. Totally because I forgot all about the voting thing and didn't plug.Meh.If you want to re-read the fic I'd entered, it's Five Times...Dean Didn't Get There in the Impala.

Man, I have had so much to do in the last week, I haven't had the slightest bit of time to journal about it.Car update: Flat tire was a nail, but it was warrantied, so no cost! The body work will come in at $850. Called the woman and told her both estimates. Predictably, because the total is over $1,200, and she still hasn't got her own car fixed, she now thinks she might have to put in a claim through her insurance. Le Sigh. I really want a check. I want it so that I can apply it to the replacement for the car. Not that I don't love my Ashley! But a car that doesn't drive places reliably is just not really much good.The reality check of the car made me reconsider reconsidering going to EyeCon. Also, no Gulf Wars this year, even if I could do it financially - schedule precludes, as it conflicts with Sound of Music.Okay, so last night I beta'd a chapter, packed, presided over a board meeting, and *then* recorded, edited, and uploaded a 20-page fic with 10+ voices...until 2:00 AM. Took about an hour to get to sleep because of all the psyching myself up to stay awake. Alarm went off at 6, I arose at 6:30. Arrived at work at 8, worked pretty much non-stop until 4:30, at which point I hightailed it (as fast as the MBTA would take me) to the airport, got on my plane, and flew here. Thought I would sleep on the plane, but instead I typed in the longhand of chapter 11 I'd written yesterday and today, and then kept typing until they made me turn off the computer, which was only seconds after I killed a major Victim-of-the-Week, yay, go me.Retrieved bags, waited for grouchyoldcoot, who picked me up and drove us through torrential rain to Max and Erma's, which was closed, so we went to the Sharp Edge, had deep fried cheese and then a yummy salad, drove home, admired the progress on his kitchen, helped insert the dishwasher hose into the freshly drilled hole that Joel drilled while I was watching him do it, unpacked the suitcase FULL of his Christmas presents (both his, as in for him from me, and his as in, from him for others) that he couldn't get into his luggage while he was visiting me, and now, we're catching up on email. It's 1:15 AM! I've been up for many hours, with only about 3 1/2 hours of sleep to have started me off.:Iz ded. Okay. Girl Genius and then brush teeth and then CRASH.

Last week, when they dragged my car onto the flatbed, grouchyoldcoot said, "I'd be worried about your tires."Yesterday, when I came out of rehearsal at 2 something, I had...a flat tire.I went right back into Lois's house (where we're holding rehearsals) and of course, they're far enough from any towers that I had no phone signal. I used her phone to call AAA and was told that someone would come to change the tire by 4. Fine. I was only going to hang out in Starbucks using their Wi-Fi anyway. Lois immediately said, "Oh, that's ridiculous. Hang out here. Are you hungry? I'll set you up in the TV room. And any time you have two rehearsals like this, for Princess and Pirate and then later for Sound of Music, just feel free to stay here. You won't trouble us at all!"So, I waited for the guy to come change my tire in the warmth and comfort of Lois's home, with both her and her husband plying me with chicken and pasta (yum!), a wide-screen TV, *wireless internet(!)*, and a dog on either side of me. That? Did not suck.And I have a standing invitation to do it again. :^DMeanwhile, I took the car in this morning, and they fixed the tire. For free. It was under warranty still. Yay.And I have an appointment to bring the car in for an estimate on the body work tomorrow. So progress is being made. Kinda. BTW, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ecwoodburn! Sorry I'm a day late. Hope it was a good day.Home now, watching Angel. Back to writing.

Based on an exercise developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. If you participate in this blog game, PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.Bold which apply to you:* Father went to college. * Father finished college. And finished college on the GI bill after four years in the Marine Corps. * Mother went to college.* Mother finished college. * Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor. That would be Dad, but he had his Ph.D. for nearly 20 years before he taught in higher education, and 25 before he was teaching in his field. I also have a second cousin who's an attorney by trade (I think) and was elected mayor of Annapolis for several years.* Were the same or higher socio-economic class than your high school teachers. I guess. * Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.* Had more than 500 books in your childhood home. My whole family were big readers.* Were read children's books by a parent. Well...yes. But define children's books. I was reading on my own by the time I turned 4. The first "real book" I remember reading with my father was The Hobbit.* Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18 Yes, but from the time I turned 13, I had to help pay for them with money I earned.* Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18. Yes, I was still paying for my ballet lessons, and I took Voice at Eastman for two years in high school when my music teacher at school left and I had no one to give me formal lessons for free.* The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively. Ah, usually, I guess.* Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18. Went to college at seventeen and applied for a card. I'm pretty sure my father was the co-signatory.* Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs. Nope. I qualified for a Pell Grant and we had lots of loans. Even at that, my mother wound up getting a second mortgage before I was done. I'm STILL paying for my Master's Degree. * Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs. Nope.* Went to a private high school. Yup. On a scholarship with financial aid (loans) that reduced the tuition to approximately half the rate.* Had a private tutor before you turned 18.* Went to summer camp. Ugh. Yes. My parents both worked. I only went to overnight camp one year, though. I was in day camp when I was 6-8, then my grandmother came to live with us and I escaped for three summers without having to go to camp. When I turned 12, we found a great drama camp in the area. By the time I was fifteen, I was actually working for the school day camp.* Family vacations involved staying at hotels. Nope. Family, friends, or camping.* Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18. Mostly, but not all of it. Our school had a "next to new" sale twice a year and I wound up getting A Lot of stuff through the sale. We generally bought at least a couple new things, as needed, each season, and I usually got clothes as gifts from relatives. My mother had a compulsive shopping addiction when I was a kid, though, and she loved to buy things *for me*. It wound up indebting her several thousand dollars, and I learned how to talk her *out* of buying things. I'm still a clothes horse!* Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them. Nope! The first car I bought was to replace my mother's. So was the second. I've purchased three cars so far, and only one of them is mine.* There was original art in your house when you were a child. I have to say yes, because my mother does have Inuit sculpture, that she purchased in Toronto back when it was rather inexpensive. I think we also have some artifacts, such as an antique menorah and some original sculpture, but not what I would classify as "Original Art," like, museum-quality pieces. No. * You and your family lived in a single family house. We bought it when I was three and my mother still lives there.* Your parents owned their own house or apartment before you left home. Nope. Second mortgage and home equity loan are still being paid off. My mother just paid off the original mortgage three years ago.* You had your own room as a child. I was an only child. When I stayed with my father (after they divorced) I didn't have my own room, either when he was on his own in apartments or when he remarried and my stepsister and I shared on our weekends together.* You had a phone in your room before you turned 18. Nope. Used to talk on the upstairs extension ALL THE TIME, though. I used to get on the phone with my best friend and we would role-play by phone for hours.* Participated in an SAT/ACT prep course. Not that I recall. I think my parents bought me the prep book and we may have done some exercises in class, but I don't remember taking an extra course for it.* Had your own TV in your room in High School. Nope. Though I distinctly remember my mother going out and buying a 13" TV when both our televisions DIED DED the day before the 1980 Winter Olympics were about to start. That became the TV in her room and then when we could afford one, we replaced the downstairs TV, too.* Owned a mutual fund or IRA in High School or College. Nope. I believe my father started an account for me that is somewhere, and I've been saving at consistently high(ish) rates since I started working post-divorce in 1995, but before that, there was no savings.* Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16. Yes, to Florida when I was three, and then a class trip to D.C. in middle school. I think I was technically 17 when I flew to Boston for the National Choir.* Went on a cruise with your family. * Went on more than one cruise with your family.* Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up. Oh, yes. Locally, we had the Strong [Children's] Museum (I even was part of a few performances associated with exhibit openings), the Memorial Art Gallery, the Genesee Country Museum, the Stone Tolan House, and the George Eastman House. We also used to go to Baltimore for holidays and went to the Smithsonian a couple times (Air and Space Museum, Natural History, etc.). We went to Aquariums and train museums--basically anywhere with some educational component. Something that's not included here is going to live theatre, and we did that - usually no more than one performance per year, and often in Buffalo.* You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family. I knew roughly what our electric and heat ran us. It didn't have a whole lot of context, but I knew, and we were scrupulous about keeping the heat turned down and lights off when they weren't needed.18 out of however many. Anyone know how to evaluate this?

So the shifter cable broke - not actually surprising given the shifting issues I've been having. Hm. I wonder if the gears will work better with a new cable, or if it'll still slip? Will have to drive to find out.Anyway, they also noticed that the right forward ball joint "has a lot of play" and they're replacing that, which will require realignment, so a second job for my trouble. But it's under $450 for both repairs, which is SOOOO much better than a transmission and/or new car.However, my car hunt is now officially stepped up, because NO WAY am I going to wait until the car dies again before finding a reliable replacement. And in the meantime, my driving will be limited to the absolute necessities: rehearsals and emergencies. Poor Ashley-Pitt. Hang in there just a little while longer, my wonderful workhorse.

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 2/at least 8)Author: gwendolyngraceRecipient: celtic_cookieRequest terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results. Rating: PGGenre: GenWordcount (this chapter): about 4,215Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliantDisclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.Authors Notes: As luck would have it, 1990s Thanksgiving and Christmas fell on the same dates and days of the week as this years. Helpful! This fic started as a small casefile and its grown like whoa, so look for additional chapters between now and the January 31 deadline. Thanks to etakyma who took time from her busy Christmas schedule to beta.THENNOW:The next morning, John stumbled to the kitchen to set up his coffee. He walked down to their mailbox for the paper, then back upstairs and into the kitchen to assemble bowls of instant oatmeal for Dean and Sam. Since he worked starting as early as 9 AM and ending anywhere up to 11 PM, John liked to see the boys off before school. Otherwise, hed only lay eyes on them while they slept.Dean generally showed his face first, coming out to eat while Sam took his turn in the bathroom. Either he or John would eventually have to roust Sam out to the kitchen, since he tended to be sluggish about getting dressed. But first, Dean and John both liked to read the paper over breakfastJohn for headlines and leads, Dean for sports scores, and both of them for comics. John still chuckled about the day when Dean, who couldnt have been more than six at the time, announced to his father that reading the paper in ones pajamas was a mans prerogative.Did Jeff tell you that? John guessed, noting the ten-cent word and attributing it to the last place the boys had been staying.Mr. Jefferson says a man aint a man if he cant enjoy a paper an a pipe fore getting dressed, Dean replied. Dad, dyou think Im old enough to smoke a pipe?No.How old do I have to be before I can?Fifty, John said immediately. That goes double for cigarettes, he added. In fact, anything that people smoke.Dean had shrugged and told John solemnly, Thats okay, Daddy. Uncle Bobby let me try a cigarette when I asked, an it was gross.John had gritted his teeth over that one and reminded himself that alternate parenting strategies were a hazard when one left ones kids with friends. Well, colleagues.Friends.This morning, Dean pulled out the comics section to read Garfield and plunked himself into his chair while John poured the hot water into his oatmeal. Dean grunted his thanks and reached for one of the sugar packets, pilfered from their last meal out. He tore open the wrapper and sprinkled the contents into his oatmeal, stirring without even really looking.How was school yesterday? John asked, pouring himself more coffee after setting the kettle back on the burner for Sams breakfast. He came and sat with Dean at the counter. It was designed as a bar, with high chairs around a peninsula that opened onto the entryway and living room. Underneath were the silverware drawer, the drawer where John stashed all the condiment packets, and the cabinet where he stored the second-hand pots and pans hed brought in with them when they moved. The curved end could fit three chairs and had just enough flat space for them all to eat together.Fine.Anything big today?Nope.Do your homework?Yup.Sammy have any homework?A little. He did it before supper.Okay. The conversation was easy, familiar, dare he even think, routine.Are you working today?Yeah. Ill be late again. Sorry.Its okay. Only I think were out of Chef Boyardee.Hm. John opened the cupboard between the sink and the fridge. Theres Ramen.Its the shrimp kind. Sammyll only eat the chicken or beef flavors.John rolled his eyes. Okay, he said, hang on. He went down the hall. The bathroom door was still closed. He pounded on it. Get a move on, Sam, he called. Hearing a muffled affirmative, he moved on to his bedroom and picked up his wallet from the nightstand. Back in the kitchen, Dean had finished the comics and was pulling the sports section out of the paper. Here, John said, handing Dean a $20 note from his billfold. Ill try to get to the store before I go to work, but just in case I dont, you can order a pizza.Dean grinned at Jacksons etching. Can we order pizza anyway?John ruffled his hair, turning it halfway through to a head bobble. No, but Ill tell you what: if you dont have to, you and Sammy can split the money for your Christmas fund.Deans face expanded in all directions at once: eyes widened, eyebrows sprang upward, and his jaw dropped a fraction of an inch; a second later his muscles settled themselves into an expression of affected boredom. Cool, thanks, he said, trying to sound as urbane as possible.Hmph. Finish your oatmeal.Sam wandered in. He had dressed, but his hair stuck out in every direction. Its called a hairbrush, Sam, John said when he regarded his sons lack of grooming. I know youve got one.My hairs too wet to brush, Sam said defensively.Its too long not to brush, John argued. You know the drill, dude. Keep it tidy or we get it cut.I like mine short, Dean volunteered.John sighed. He knew Dean was trying to help, the way he used to when Sam wouldnt eat something, or when it seemed only he could unlock the secret of what would make Sam stop crying. Still, the notion that sometimes Dean was a more effective influence on Sam than the boys own father grated on John. Yes, thank you, Dean, he said too loudly. He poured water over the oatmeal.Not too much! Sam shrieked.John pulled up on the kettle in exasperation. Sam. Sorry. Im sorry.John resisted the urge to point out that hed been subject to Sams preferences for longer than Sam himself had been aware of them, had had to figure them out the hard way, by trial and error. He remembered that Dean, his human vacuum cleaner, had gone through a picky stage, too, cured only by patience that John frankly considered should qualify him for sainthood. And if Dean had needed Johns superhuman tolerance to push him through not eating, Samstubborn, bull-headed, authority-questioning Samwould need Johns absolute indefatigable fortitude.So instead of making a comment that would only make John sound at least as pissy as his seven-year-old, he asked, How was school yesterday?Okay, Sam replied. He looked over at Dean. Dean met his brothers eyes. Was it Johns imagination or did Dean shake his head ever so slightly before rolling his eyes and setting down the paper?Was yesterday a music day? Or an art day? John pressed. He could never remember the kids schedules, was usually impressed that the boys did as well at re-learning each schools routine as they did at keeping his profession a secret.Music, Sam said, blushing. Were learning a dumb song.Dumb?It doesnt make any sense.What do you mean? John sipped his coffee and picked up the comics page. The paper here had Sally Forth, which had been a welcome surprise.The words are all gibberish, Sam explained, stirring his oatmeal and tasting an experimental spoonful. Do we have any more sugar?Dean opened the drawer and tossed Sam more packets, keeping another for himself and dumping it on top of his congealing oatmeal.Are they in another language? John asked.Oh. Sam sat back in his chair as if he hadnt thought of that. Maybe. Not Latin, though. Id know if it was Latin.Yeah, I guess you would, John agreed. Hed been proud and a little shocked when Sam had first shown him that he could read by pulling out Jims big Latin psalter and reciting Dominus pascit me in a high-pitched but steady rhythm. Do you remember any of the words? Maybe I can tell you if they mean anything. Big maybe, he thought, but he remembered a smattering of high school German and French. And how hard could a song be if it was being taught to second-graders? Dean spooned his oatmeal, watching Sam closely. Sam swallowed a mouthful of oatmeal that otherwise could be used as Spackle and gave it a shot.Well, the main part goes, Oat, On, and Balm. They say that a lot.Oat, On. O Tannenbaum?Thats what I said.No, Sam: O Tannenbaum, John repeated. Its German. It means Christmas tree.Dean and Sam both looked at him with renewed awe. John glanced back and forth between them. What?Sam recovered first. I didnt know you could speak German, Dad, he said slowly.Dont really, but I took a little of it in school. Anyway, its a Christmas carol. If you think about it, Im sure youve heard it before. Dean scraped his bowl with his spoon for the last mouthful. Must be old fogey music, he said dryly. Sam snorted. So did John, covering it up by sipping the coffee. Rinse your bowl; Ill wash up before work.As Dean got up and crossed to the sink, John noticed Deans pajama cuffs. Dean? Are your PJs up above your ankles?Dean looked down. The pajama cuffs hugged the base of his calf. I guess, he said cautiously.Are they hiked up? John probed.Dean swiped his left pajama leg with his right foot. The cuff descended about a quarter inch. Um, no? John scratched his stubbly chin. Well, did they shrink in the wash? Or are you really growing that fast?Dean bit his lip, thinking. He pulled at the front of his pants, then looked up. I dont think I shrank them. Sam? We did laundry on Sunday, Sam recited through his last spoonful of gluey oatmeal. One load of whites and one load of other stuff. We did the other stuff on cold.Shouldnt have shrunk then, John mused. Damn. Well, okay, I guess I know whats going under the tree for you.Sam came to Deans defense quickly. Clothes dont count!John crossed his arms. Clothes count, Sammy. They just never count as the only present.Or the main present, Sam stipulated. Or the main present, John affirmed. This was what Sammy had taken to calling the one gift John always gave each boy from Santa, which he took care to make something, if not specifically on their list, at least more frivolous than the other presents. Some years, Santa was more frivolous than others, but he never brought them socks or even books; the boring presents landed squarely in Johns domain.Dad, theyre fine, Dean said. They fit, theyre just short. So what?John sighed with tight lips. Okay. But if they blow out, dont be a martyr about it, dude. Theyre just PJs, its not going to break the bank.Yessir.You better get dressed or youll be late.Dean hurried off to comply. What about you, anything exciting on tap today? John asked Sam.Sam shrugged. Dunno.Dean said you did your homework. Want me to check it for you?No. Its right.What was it?Addition. A couple fractions. Easy. And I had to copy out a spelling list, but I did that at school.Thats it? No term papers? No book report on War and Peace?Dad, Im in second grade, Sam said, his tone somewhere between haughty and indignant. They dont make you do stuff like that until at least fifth.Oh, okay, John gave in with an assessing frown. How about any art projects? No volcanoes or cardboard dioramas?Sam rolled his eyes. Im sorry I forgot to tell you about the volcano model that one time. I wont do it again, okay?Relax, Sammy, John said, putting a hand on his boys shoulder. Dean tended to give Johns teasing right back to him, but he always forgot how it agitated Sam. Somehow Johns brand of humor was lost on the kid. Im just checking in on you. Im allowed, you know, I am your dad.Sam scuffed his foot against the floor. Yeah, I know, sir. Msorry.Its okay, sport. But you know, holidays are around the corner. Seems to me theyre gonna ask for some kind of project before the break. He scrubbed his chin with his fingers. You gotta let me know if we need to prepare anything ahead of time, right?Sams eyes bugged out and his face grew red. I said I know, he said defensively.Hey, this is important stuff, dude, John said as gently as he could, even though he could feel his gorge rising. Im not saying this to get on your case, Sam. I just dont want you to get caught flat-footed again. So anything going on, stuff to bring for class, or whatever, you tell me. Got that?Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded.Cant hear you.Yes, sir, Sam said, meeting Johns chin with his eyes.Okay, John said, squeezing Sams shoulder. Go brush your hair and get your books. He sent the boy off with a light swat toward his butt.Dean returned, now dressed for school. Theres one thing Im wondering, he said, leaning against the kitchen wall, where it joined the hallway.Whats that?Are we actually getting a tree? John rolled his eyes. Well make it a Charlie Brown Christmas, kiddo. Find a sincere shrub and well talk.Dean laughed.John picked up Sams bowl and put it in the sink, added a little water. Sam! Move it, mister.Sam trotted to the living room with his bookbag and the pair of snow pants that John had bought along with the down coats for both boys. Sam sat on the couch to pull the pants on over his jeans. Dean looked down at him. Gotta go before you put all that on?No.Im just saying. You put on the snow pants and next thing you know.Screw off, Dean. He crossed to the coat hooks by the apartment door and pulled down his jacket.Dean cackled. Look, Dad, Sammys trying to swear. Screw off, how cute. Dean reached out to ruffle Sams hair, and Sam got his hand up to block just in time, followed through with the counterpunch. Dean caught his arm and twisted it. Sam walked into the twist, resulting in the two of them rotating on the axis of Sams wrist for half a turn.Training later. School now, boys. They dropped their hands. Dean reached for his scarf while John crouched in front of Sam to zip his down jacket. Sam sighed. Now I gotta go, he revealed glumly.~*~Snow had blanketed the ground outside. Little hillocks ran along the sides of the walkways where the plow had been. It left a scraped layer, grooved with the treads of the blade. Sam turned around, walking backward.Quit it, Dean ordered.Im making my tracks go backward, Dean, Sam explained.Youre slowing us down, and were already late because of your extra pee break.Sam ran to catch up. He gripped the hood of his coat awkwardly with his mittens. Do you sometimes think Dads psychic?Dean frowned. Whaddaya mean?Wellit was like he knew about the pageant.Sam, everyone has concerts and plays and stuff around this time of year. Dad doesnt need to be a mind reader to know that. Anyway, you almost gave it away.No, I didnt!Yes, you did. Hold my hand, Dean added before they crossed the busy intersection at Vermont and Elm. The light changed and they hurried to the other side. You told him about the song. Think about it, Sammy. Why would you be learning a song if you arent in some kind of concert or a pageant or something, huh?Sam blanched, despite the cold making his cheeks glow. He asked about music. I thought hed think it was for music class.Yeah. Well, youre lucky. But that doesnt mean hes stupid. You raised his suspicions.Will you get in trouble?You mean if he finds out? Maybe. So hes not gonna, right?Right. Dean let go of Sams hand well before they rounded the corner and came within sight of Jeromes front yard. There was always a crossing guard on duty here, which Dean found typically jacked up, because apart from parents dropping off their kids in their cars, there really wasnt any traffic on this corner. But Elm was a main drag and only a block away, yet there was never a crossing guard stationed there where it would have been useful. It was what Dad would have called SNAFU.The only good thing about it was that Dean didnt have to be seen in public holding his brothers hand.Its sposed to snow again tonight, Dean told Sam before letting him run into the building. Wait inside the doors, but watch for me so you can come out as soon as I get here. Im not standing around in the cold again. Got that, shrimp?Okay, Dean, jeez, stop acting like such a jerk.Mjust saying. Not like youre gonna be busy singing. Dean smirked. His nose was running again from the cold. See you later, geek-boy.He kept walking, hearing Sam call, Bye, Dean! but not waiting for it. He swiped his nose with his knit cuff.Dean increased his pace, aware that he was running late. He was sweating by the time he reached South, but he made it ahead of the first bell. You may remember, class, that today is the day were drawing for our secret holiday gift exchange, Mrs. Fontana said after the morning announcements. Well exchange gifts on the last day of termthats Friday, the 21st. Now, I know that not everyone can participate in the exchangeyes, Chenaya, I knowbut Ive put the names of those who can into this. She held up an opaque cookie jar in the shape of a penguin. Please form a line on the left side of the classroom, draw a name from the jar, and if it isnt your own, resume your seat. Yes, Dean?I cant, maam, Dean said quickly, putting his hand back down. He didnt want to squander his Christmas fund on a stranger. He figured if the lie had worked for Sam, it would do for him as well. Mrs. Fontana regarded him suspiciously over the rims of her reading glasses. They were small and rectangular and looked like theyd come from another century. Please approach, Dean, she said. Dean had already learned this was her way of calling him up for a private conversation, like a judge asking for a sidebar. Several of the kids tittered or whispered as he walked to the desk.Theres nothing in your records about a legitimate reason not to participate in school holiday festivities, Dean, she said softly.Im not surprised, Dean replied, ready for the objection. Its happened before. Sometimes the records dont all arrive, um, intact.Mrs. Fontana looked like she didnt believe him. I dont have time to go digging through the slips for your name now. Kindly draw a name anyway, for the time being, and then you and I can work out what to do during your study hall. She raised her voice to address the class. Everyone, get in line, please.Dean stayed in front of the desk while everyone snapped to Mrs. Fontanas directions. She lifted an eyebrow, her gaze clearly telling Dean not to challenge her authority in front of the others. Dean held her eyes just long enough to make it clear, in return, that he was capitulating not because he feared her, but because he chose to comply. He was doing her a favor, not the other way around. When he was sure she got the message, but before she could accuse him of insubordination, Dean spun on his heel and marched over to join the line.Dad said ninety percent of any confrontation was won by establishing ones dominance right off the bat.He brought his slip of paper back to Mrs. Fontana during Study Hall. Thank you, Mrs. Fontana said crisply. But you have yet to explain to my satisfaction why you ought to be excluded from the exercise.Huh? Oh. You mean you want to know why I want out?Are you in some doubt as to what I said, Dean?Either Mrs. Fontana was more annoyed than Dean had figured, or she delighted in being as pompous as possible. Maybe both. No, maam. Were Jehovahs Witnesses, he supplied quickly.Your records include nothing to indicate that.I know. Like I said, sometimes they dont catch everything.I highly doubt that they made an omission, Dean. Mrs. Fontana pulled out a manila file and tapped it with one manicured nail. Dean could see a neatly printed label on the tab: Winchester, D. it read, with a sequence of numbers underneath it. These are the records from your previous school. They include your transcripts, the number of days you were absent, the number of times you were seen by the principal, your school photograph, and even selected physical characteristics, such as your lack of known allergies and the date of your most recent tetanus shot. She pursed her lips, giving her whole face a pinched look that accentuated her wrinkles. So the fact that they could successfully transfer all this information, and yet somehow neglect to mention a religious affiliation that would affect your participation in school-sponsored solemnities is something I find highly suspicious. In fact, if I didnt know better I might arrive at the conclusion that you are deliberately misrepresenting your familys spiritual status in an effort to abstain from proceedings you find personally distasteful. She paused to let that sink inor at least, to give Dean a chance to figure out what she meant behind all the fancy words.Youre calling me a liar, Dean complained.Certainly not, Mrs. Fontana said primly. Im merely offering you an opportunity to reconsider your allegation.Dean squinted at her.To change your story, Dean, she clarified. Her eyes were sharp and bead-like over the rims of her glasses.Oh. Wellmaybe my family arent Jehovahs Witnesses, Dean said. At her look of satisfaction, he continued quickly, But I am.Really? You willingly want to forego presents, decorations, candy in your stocking? You would rather attend church than wake up on Christmas morning to a wrapped box under your tree?We dont have a tree, Dean pointed out, glad that he was absolutely telling the truth.Mrs. Fontana wasnt impressed. Dean. Are you honestly telling me that you harbor a religious conviction that prohibits you from observing Christmas?Dean captured his lips between his teeth, jaw shifting to one side. If he ducked the Secret Santa, he could also duck other things, like whatever holiday assemblies or other stuff they had planned. Buthed also miss out on the fun stuff. He wouldnt have to waste money on someones presentbut he wouldnt get a present, either. On the other hand, if he changed his story now, Mrs. Fontana would know hed been lying. And shed win.Ive been thinking about it, Dean said carefully. Christmas really doesnt mean a whole lot to our family.Theres more to religion than liking or not liking a single holiday, Dean, Mrs. Fontana said softly. For once, her customary pretension was absent. She spoke like a real person.I never said I didnt like it, Mrs. Fontana, Dean pointed out politely. Its just not much different for us. Jehovahs Witnesses dont do anything different either, so.So you thought youd trick me into letting you sit out on the festivities?She was so frank about it that the comment actually stung Dean a little. It wasnt a trick, he lied. Honest. I justI was trying it. Being one, I mean.Mrs. Fontana took off her glasses. Without them, she looked younger, softer. Her eyes were bright blue, Dean noticed. She tapped his records again. Im not sure what conditions were in your previous schoolor previous schools, I should saybut I think youre used to being able to tell your teachers stories. And because theyre plausible stories and because youre an affable young man, no doubt, they believe you. Strictly speaking, Im not supposed to have anything to say about religion, or the lack thereof, in one of my students. So Im not going to discuss with you the intricacies of any religious conversion, except to caution you not to take such a decision lightly. Your religious beliefs are your own business, Dean, but theyre also an intensely personal decision, and they should be meaningful. Not based on whether or not you have enough money for a Secret Santa present. Hm?Dean had been scowling when she started lecturing him again, but as he looked up to answer, he saw something on her face that was so out of place, Dean wondered how it had come to rest there: She was smiling. Not a condescending smile, nor an indulgent one, but a straightforward, genuine smile. Seeing it surprised Dean enough to return the gesture. Unfortunately, she took this for confirmation. If youre worried about spending your Christmas budget on this gift, there are things you can do that dont cost anything. Youre bright, Dean. Im sure youll think of something.Mrs. Fontana put her glasses back on and the approachable, kind version of Mrs. Fontana disappeared behind the frames. I suggest you take a look at your recipients name, Mr. Winchester, back at your desk.Continue to Chapter 3