Authors Note: So here we are again, an EPIC sized chapter, which I hope you enjoy

Authors Note: So here we are again, an EPIC sized chapter, which I hope you enjoy. I apologise in advance if some parts get a little too heavy on the decorating, we will explore their reasons and choices about why they’ve done certain things in future chaps. The layout of stuff is pretty important in the rest of story, so that’s why it may be a tad descriptive heavy. Happy holidays folks!

Oh and I’d like to wish HAPPY BIRTHDAY to legalliquid, kaoticone696969, oddie33325, mollieclarke, and lizardlady1213 whose birthdays are all coming up soon. Hope you all have a good one with lots of cake and presents!

Chapter 19

Dean kept a steady pace of 70 miles per hour along the I-90, elbow resting out his open window, his T-shirt flapping gently in the breeze and Megadeath blaring from the radio. Sam mirrored his position in the passenger seat, cheerfully tapping his fingers against the frame in time to Mechanix. It was warm out; the sun pouring down from above but with the front windows rolled down it was cool in the car. It was just like old times, the smell of warm leather seats, the dusty sun baked scent of the road and the occasional whiff of pine from mountain thickets. In a weird way Sam had missed this, the feeling of being carefree, of speeding down the interstate with no obligations except the call of the dead. He’d also missed the strange closeness with his brother, for although they’d grown closer in many other ways, this was the image he’d had longer than most; this was the definitive Dean.

For the first few hours, as they sped towards the South Dakota border and into Montana, they tossed light-hearted conversation like oldies on a park bench. Boring, light and banterish barbs; neither had the will to make it more important than entertainment.

They stopped for lunch at some bland diner, about a hundred miles into the middle of nowhere. It was only a brief stop, enough to quell their rumbling stomachs, gas-up and buy snacks for later on in the journey. Sam couldn’t decide whether the roll in his stomach at the greasy smell was nostalgia or just plain nausea. It wasn’t until they were back on the road and rummaging around through the bag of goodies Dean had bought that Sam began to understand how much things had truly changed. Before October last year, snacks would consist of chocolate and sugary sweets, chips, fizzy juice, doughnuts and the odd bottle of water – couldn’t afford to get dehydrated after all. Today the bag contained four bottles of water, two bottles of Powerade, two boxes of crackers, some packets of dried fruit, several bags of Quaker Rice Snacks, two bananas, two oranges and a bag of mint Life-savers – sugar free. In a way it saddened him, the old times would never truly be continued but mostly it kind of excited him, it drilled home the fact that they were driving to a whole new way of life. A life where: they would live in a proper house and work a proper job while hunting on the side. The type of living where: they’d go shopping regularly at a proper supermarket, cook food that hadn’t seen a food processing plant and Dean would actual care about his cholesterol and fat intake. They were going – no scratch that – they owned a house; in a cul-de-sac knee deep in Suburbia; in the middle of a busy city next to the sea. It was almost too hard to believe; Sam had never thought this day would come… ever. So he could be forgiven for not really knowing how to act.

The weirdest part was the fact that Dean was sitting next to him, calmly driving them to a lifestyle that he’d vowed never to follow. All their life Dean had mocked normalcy and the concept of white picket-fence living. It was boring; it was scary; it was unnatural; it was nauseating; it was restrictive; it was soul destroying; it was a trap; inescapable; fake; invasive; and depressing. Dean had constantly drilled it into Sam that he hated the idea of normalcy to the point of preference of death. Sam had never truly bought the act though. The phrase, ‘thou does protest two much’ almost certainly the most accurate observance. It was definitely the best explanation for Dean’s current utter calmness and almost boyish excitement to be heading towards their own private, suburban home. For Dean was excited, that was obvious: the bright sparkle in his eyes, the easy smile, the cheerful mood, the loose driving, the almost-annoying humming and the fact that they’d been travelling for six hours without a single argument. Yes Dean was excited and that just made Sam all the more excited too.

They swapped over driving at quarter to three, after Dean’s seventh yawn; simply pulling over into the dusty hard shoulder and passing each other around the front of the car like it was a programmed procedure. As Sam slid behind the wheel, Dean pulled out a baseball cap from the glove compartment and slipped it low over his head, blocking out the sunlight. Sam changed the music folder on Dean’s Ipod and slowly accelerated back onto the road. Behind them the dust swirled up like a desert storm but nobody else was there to care, the road completely empty. Sam took the Impala back up to 70 and relaxed his foot, keeping her at a steady, gainly pace. When Dean’s tapping fingers finally trailed into stillness, Sam turned off the music and listened to the quiet breaths of his brother instead. The thrum of the engine and the hiss of passing air made a truly calmly lullaby, which kept Dean in slumber for a good couple of hours.

March was still clutching onto winter so by six o’clock the sun was starting a slow descent in front of him, orange and blinding. The visor took out the worst but he had to reach over his brother to snag his sunglasses out the side pocket. The combination of Sam’s weight and the gentle swerve as he straightened up roused Dean from his nap. He coughed quietly and slid off the cap, cataloguing their location and progress. Sam had made good time Dean realised; they would make it to Missoula slightly earlier than expected. With a sigh he relaxed back into the seat and watched the looming Rocky Mountains in the distance. Another couple of hours driving and they could stop for the night.

Indeed, it was nine o’clock when they finally pulled into The Super 8 Motel just off the 101 exit in Missoula. The warm evening had tapered off into a chilly cloudless night and they shivered slightly as they exited the car. Sam booked them a room while Dean checked out the local dining facilities. They ended up having dinner at MacKenzie River Pizza before heading back to the motel and watching America’s Got Talent repeats. Don’t make the mistake that they watched because they liked it, no, they watched it simply to rip the fuck out of the contestants. It was simply a chance for some good brotherly bonding and banter. Anyway, both fell asleep before eleven, which was a good thing because they were planning at leaving ridiculously early the next morning.

They left the motel about five, the sky grey and drowsy – kind of how Sam felt. Breakfast was grabbed at a 24 hour before they rejoined the interstate. Dean naturally took the wheel first and pressed his foot down on the gas; wheel in one hand, bacon roll in the other. They were aiming to get to Astoria by half two, which meant nine hours of solid, hard driving - at least. The day was rather overcast and a little clammy; they cracked the windows open and Sam found the heat making him even more drowsy. When Dean looked over to ask Sam for a new tape he found his brother fast asleep and drooling against the window. Reluctant to wake him, Dean idly surfed the radio stations but found nothing at all decent to listen to and switched it off. Great… nothing but scenery to entertain him… oh happy days. With a deep sigh, he indicated and overtook a slow semi, one of the few vehicles on the road this time of day.

Sam woke up again about nine and offered to take over for a while, which Dean was secretly glad about because he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. The monotony was using his short night’s sleep against him.

Sam pulled in for gas at lunch time and bought a load of different snacks, time was short, they couldn’t stop for long if they wanted to get to Astoria by half two. The scenery had changed slowly from the granite crags of the Montana side of the Rocky Mountains to the dusty pine tree hills of Lookout Pass (Idaho) and then the glittering sparkle of Coeur d’Alene Lake. Shortly after the lake had narrowed into a river-wide stretch they drove past the Post Falls Dam – an awesome sight indeed. Great crashing white streams falling into a beautiful tranquil park setting. Scarcely 5-10 minutes later they passed across the border line into Washington. The first city they reached, Spokane Valley, brought them momentarily back into civilisation before casting them once again into boring rolling fields. The temperature had dropped significantly since Montana and they drove past many snow capped hilltops testament to the ongoing winter. Both had wound their windows up and Sam turned on the Impala’s heating just enough to keep them warm but not fog up the windscreen.

Through the scablands of Eastern Washington into more rolling farmland, up through Ellensburg into the Snoqualmie Pass, through Olallie State Park and into Seattle. There they stopped for a toilet break and quick stretch of legs before climbing back into the Impala, Dean now taking over again behind the wheel, and swapping from the I-90 to the I-5. This is where Sam started to feel excitement churn in his stomach. Now they were less than two hundred miles away from Astoria; their new home.

Montesano was the next place of recognition on their journey; this was where Kurt Cobain went to school. Sam suffered fifteen long minutes of music history before Dean got distracted by a scarecrow. After that they were in Aberdeen and heading down the West Coast; the Pacific occasionally peaking through the trees and rolling landscape.

It was 2.46pm, and Sam was dozing again, when Dean swatted his arm and pointed to excitedly to the left,

“Dude, look, the Astoria Bridge.”

And there indeed it was, looming over the treetops, sea-green and grand, the first glimpse of their new home. Great green spans stretching for 6km, tailing off into a low rolling landscape clustered with multicoloured houses and evergreens. Astoria was an active port town at the mouth of a busy industrial river.

Both unconsciously slid forward in their seats to get a better look and within minutes they were rounding the bend towards the slip road. The River Columbia sparkled blue and cold in its impossibly wide glory. Above them the first of the gulls cried and circled, swooping between the water and the nearside trees.

To their right lay the Pacific Ocean, infinite and intimidating; the waves choppy and cresting white. Dean cracked open his window and they were immediately assaulted by the smell of salty fresh air and drying seaweed. Sam’s heart skipped a beat and he twitched in his seat, feeling as though he were at the top of a rollercoaster about to plunge.

Dean slowed the car as they neared the turning and indicated right to cross the bridge. While Dean kept a firm eye on the road ahead Sam twisted in his seat looking left, right, forward and back to take in as much as he could. To their right was the mouth or the river, a narrowing exit/entrance between two natural jutting pieces of land, surrounded by sand bars and natural wild-land. Ahead he could see the long stretch of bridge, the road ascending in a small hill, which blocked out most of the view of the other shore. The bridge seemed to go on for miles, just one long endless stretch of tarmac and metal, surrounded by deep swirling water. The faint outlines of houses and docks were just visible around the edges of the metal arches, a tantalizing glimpse of home. To their right the river travelled inland between gently rolling evergreen lands, little isolated islands and the occasional sandbar.

He was so engaged in looking around that he completely missed when Dean spoke to him. The not so gentle thump on his shoulder however got his attention,

“Ow! What was that for?” He complained, rubbing the top of his arm with a scowl.

“To get your attention,” Dean retorted, throwing a sharp glance in his wing mirror, “I asked if you could get out that address. Logan said the road wasn’t far over the bridge and we’re almost across.”

“Oh, right, sorry… hang on a second.” He reached forward and opened the glove compartment, rifling through all the assortment of different stuff in there. Badges, fake licences, visas, maps, print outs, newspapers, photos, food wrappers, spare headlight bulbs, pens, notebooks, a knife, painkillers… They really had to clear it out sometime. He found the envelope and pulled it free, using his knee to close the compartment again. Shaking the papers half out of the envelope he snagged the one he wanted and smoothed out the fold.

“Alright, Lewis and Clark Real Estate and Property Management… 92351 Lewis and Clark Road. The map on the back says you want to head onto West Marine Drive and keep going until you reach another bridge, heading towards Warrenton. The building is straight across at the wonky crossroads.”

As the bridge ended they found themselves skirting around the edge of the town on a road sandwiched between the water’s edge and the front houses. Astroia was quite like many other seaside towns, in the sunshine it gleamed gorgeous and inviting, full of colour and interest, but in the mist and rain it was bleak and somewhat depressing. Today the sun was out, despite the clouds, but the air was far from warm. They passed the mess of docks and ports, heading towards the Pacific and as the rounded the slow curve of land they suddenly found themselves crossing another stretch of water where the town of Warrenton provided the first stop for shipping on the Columbia.

The estate agency was actually really easy to find; a small tidy building just off the main road, on the outskirts of town. It stood in the midst of an industrial estate in which the various shops were spread across wide open land, sort of like someone had dotted dice on a hundred acre farm. Dean let the Impala gently roll to a stop on an open piece of concrete, obviously designed to be a free-for-all parking area. The road was dusty, although Sam figured it was probably sand that had been blown from the shore. The doors creaked wearily as they both climbed out; stiff and rather cramped from the long journey. Sam’s legs wanted to buckle at first and he placed a steadying hand on the car’s roof, regaining his standing balance. The air was still salty and oceanic but had also gained a little dryness from being inland. With a slight groan at the ache in his thighs, Sam pushed away from the impala and followed his brother up to the building.

The agency was a typical wooden style house where the roof acted like a second floor. It was rather ‘loggish’ in appearance and retained an uncomfortable level of quaintness and faux-friendliness – or so Dean thought anyway. The surrounding decking and the stairs leading up to the open door were covered with flower pots and hanging baskets. It looked more like a little old ladies house than a professional estate agency.

They climbed up the steps and into the lobby, pasting on cheerful smiles as they approached the reception desk. The inside reflected the outside on loggishness but manages to attain an elegant level of decoration. There was a huge photo of the Astoria Bridge along one wall, a huge grand oak desk acting as the reception bar and plush black leather seating in the waiting area. The room smelled of pine, partially masked by a pungent floral air freshener – the type that seeped into your clothes and made you smell like a new car for the rest of the day.

There was a pretty young woman behind the desk; a tall brunette with silky bobbed hair and a bright smile. She was talking quite animatedly on the phone; managing to sound both friendly and sincere, while apologetic. Obviously it must be a client. As she held up her hand up to them in that ‘sorry, I’ll be with you as soon as possible’ gesture, Dean caught the glint of a new wedding ring. Well, that ruled out any flirting on his part, shame.

Both hesitantly took a seat in the chairs provided although they needn’t have bothered for she hung up only a minute or two later.

“Sorry about that gentlemen, how can I help you?”

Sam stood up first,

“Hi, we’re Samuel Clark and Zack Reilly. We’ve come to pick up the keys to 1022 Woodland Road.”

She smiled brightly, flashing perfectly even white teeth.

“Oh, of course, we’ve been expecting you Mr Clark. Welcome to Astoria.” She turned to her computer and pressed a couple of keys, “Ah hah, right, you were assigned to Laura Cole… okay… right, I’ll give her a call, I believe she has the keys on her but she’s out on a showing although I would think she’d be finished by now.”

She picked up the phone and keyed in a two digit number, the boys could hear the line ring a couple of times and then a cheery female voice answered, “Laura Cole.”

“Hi Laura it’s Diane, I’ve got Mr Clark and Mr Reilly here for Woodland Road… uh huh… uh huh… okay… yes… 1022… I will… okay… how long? Right… okay… well shall I send the folder with them? Save you from having to come back? Okay… ET323? I will, okay, thanks, bye.”

She replaced the phone and set them another cheerful smile,

“She’ll meet you at the house. Her showing’s just finished and it’s only a few blocks away from Woodland Road. Do you know how to get there?”

In the end she had to pull out a map and show them the location. In addition she wrote down the directions on a spare piece of paper and gave them a folder to pass on to Laura.

Then they were back in the Impala and retracing their steps back across the small bridge over Young’s Bay and then right - onto West Marine Drive. Then they took a left onto 7th Street and about 800yds up took a right onto Klaskanine Road. Second left brought them onto 9th Street and first right was Woodland Road. Their house was at the end of a cul-de-sac right next to a small stretch of woodland. The houses on Woodland Road were typical Middle American, with some upper-middle dotted here and there. It was a nice neighbourhood. A nicely kept neighbourhood – the type that screamed comfortable living but still felt homey and not totally white-fence. I suppose you could quantify it as the type of place where people could afford expensive things and although their houses were filled with the latest technology the owners didn’t bat an eyelash to leaving rooms messy or putting dusty boots up on the coffee table. Basically, it was a neighbourhood filled with nice, down-to-earth and friendly people who just happened to have well paid jobs. It put the boys at some ease. Their cul-de-sac branched off about three quarters along Woodland Road and held eight houses – four either side of the road. It was easy to see where the road name came from – at the end of their street, held back by a three foot stone wall was a small wood. Tall oaks and pine towered up, making the place feel protected and somewhat sheltered. The air even smelled of pine – it was refreshing and quite calming.

All of the houses on their little street were different from each other; individual in both shape and colour. The only thing in-keeping, likewise with all the other houses on Woodland Road, was the wooden panelling that covered the exterior. Three of houses in this little break-away were one level; the other five were two storeys. Two of the houses were pale green, three were cream, two were mahogany stained and one was a pastel pink. Sam immediately liked it. Secluded, private and pretty, it had enough character for Dean to feel comfortable too. Although he had seen pictures before, the house in reality was so different and so much… bigger. He felt another great jolt of excitement in his stomach, a childish desperation to get out and run around exploring. The thing they never got to do as kids was run around a new house and squabble about who got which bedroom.

1022, their house, was the pale-green, two-storey on the far left corner, neighbouring the woodland. It was a traditional style of house; four front windows (two up, two down) and a door - with porch - in the middle. The lower widows had crossed panes – broken up into about fifteen/twenty little rectangles. Some might call them mullions. There was a lawn in front of the house with a concrete path splitting it in half and leading up to the front door. The porch was basically a triangular piece of roof jutting out about a metre from the door with a railing either side. Two elegant outside lamps flanked the entrance, prepared to provide enough light to see the lock at night. Under both lower windows there was a flower bed with a row of really colourful shrubs. To the left of the garden there was a line of small pines that provided a screen from the neighbouring house to about halfway up the lawn. In the middle of the lawn to the left of the path was a giant fern. On the right lawn was a young birch tree. At the end of the path, near the road, was a standard mailbox in mint condition.

Between the wall holding back the wood and the right hand side of the house was a wide and rather long concrete driveway. It led up to a separate garage. The garage sat in line with the side entrance, which was like an extension but made from the same material as the rest of the house. The pictures had showed its use as a laundry area – it was too small (barely 5’ by 10’) to be of use as anything else. This little extension and the garage were joined by a tall wooden gate that obvious led to the back garden.

Parked outside the front lawn was a brand new silver Taurus with a woman leaning against it talking into a cell phone.

Dean drove past her and turned sharply onto the drive – their drive! God, would it ever actually sink in to Sam that they owned a house?
Once again they were stiff getting out of the car, never having stretched out all the kinks at the agency. The woman, Laura Cole, Sam reasoned, flipped her cell shut and met them at the bottom of the drive. She was a short woman, late forties, quite handsome – probably stunning in her twenties but looked a little plasticized now. She had thick blond hair pinned to her head, tonnes of silver jewellery, an expensive navy suit and enough make-up on to constitute ten models. Although her appearance was a little fake, her bright smile was anything but.

“Hello!” She enthused reaching out to shake their hands before they’d even got close enough, “I’m Laura Cole, welcome to Astoria!”

Sam gave her a warm smile and shook her perfectly manicured hand. The perfume she wore was so strong that he nearly sneezed.

“Thank you. I’m Sam and this is Zack.”

Dean politely shook her hand but then seemed to shrink back as though a little unnerved by the woman. Sam was not one to judge too quickly but he had the impression that Laura was probably a bit of a man-eater and he knew Dean was never truly comfortable with the whole older-woman thing. That aside, it was rather amusing to watch.

“So,” she grinned, almost predatory, “We finally get to meet face to face. I must say you look like fine upstanding young men and I think you’ll both fit in here splendidly. Now, I’m sure you’re eager to see just what you’ve invested in. Let me give you the grand tour and then we can sort out the paperwork.”

They followed her up the garden to the front door. Sam felt his heartbeat quicken, this was so weird. Laura pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal a long peach wallpapered hallway. Dean wrinkled his nose and Sam could practically see all the redecorating changes running through his mind.

“So, in you come,” Laura encouraged, shooing them in over the thresh hold “It’s a damn good property. The house has a new heating system, barely two years old and has had all the electrics rewired in the last five years. Ah, here we go first room.”

She opened the first door on the left and revealed a large bare room, the room they’d been dreading to see the most; the living room. Holy Christ. Sam choked and Dean stepped backwards making a cross sign with his fingers. The garish magenta and purple walls were even worse in reality – likewise with the not-so-cream carpet. Even Laura didn’t look that enthusiastic,

“I figure you’ll change the colour scheme, I daresay these aren’t your colours… but it is a very large room, as big as most living rooms. The room opposite this is the same size too so you could choose whichever you want to be your living-room.”

It was indeed a big room, though the size was rather hidden by the heavy colours. It had to be about fifteen-twenty feet in length and ten wide, Sam judged. There was a stain on the carpet in the top corner and by the rectangle shaped patch of darker carpet something had obviously been placed over to hide it. The walls, too, had seen a fair amount of diluting sunlight, there were darker rectangles of purple paint where pictures had been hanging.

Laura quickly led them across the hall, much to their relief, into the opposite room which was a bit darker since it was closer to the woods – the trees blocked out some of the sunlight. This room was a pale yellow with the same cream carpet - almost a blank canvas, which was a good start. Sam got the feeling the previous owners hadn’t really known what to do with this room. Not that he did either.

The end of the hallway came out into a huge open space. To the left, in line with the ugly room, was the bottom bathroom. A large, sixties style room which held a tired tub and shower as well as the usual toilet fixtures.

To the right, was the huge expanse of space flooded with light from a large window on the drive-side wall. It was painted a sort of deep red which Sam actually really liked – just not for this room. Again, the floor was covered in the same cream carpet as everywhere else but looked more used and filthy. Yep, it definitely needed to go.

Next to the bathroom was a floating wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. More light poured in from the huge window on the upstairs landing. This space could be wonderfully bright if the red was removed – might save them on electricity.

Ahead of them was a wide archway leading into the huge kitchen and dining area. Marie talked excitedly about the new cupboards that had been fitted. Indeed it was nice and modern – the previous owners thankfully having chosen a light coloured wood. There was a brand new breakfast bar too – and with the removal of the hideous dark floral wallpaper this area could be really stylish… and masculine.

The kitchen was on the right hand side and the area that had held the dining table in the pictures was to the left. Straight ahead was a set of French doors that led onto the decking and… Holy shit! The back garden was HUGE and… oh my god, was that a… pond?

“I’ll take you out into the garden later” Laura said as she followed Sam’s gaze, “but first we’ll view the upper floor. Oh, and as you can see that door,” she pointed towards the end of the cooking area, “leads to the side entrance. I believe the previous owners used it as a laundry room. It’s not that big but it is a great entrance area for storing shoes and things. Also adds that little extra security. Right, if you follow me up the stairs…”

They traipsed up the wooden staircase and Sam had a worrying image of Jethro falling between the steps. He’d have to speak to Dean about it later.

The landing was incredibly bright as well. The architect had certainly designed it well. To the left, at the top of the stairs, was the second bathroom that definitely needed sprucing up – the grout above the bath was full of orange and black mould. The suite was a bogey coloured green and slightly stained. But there was definitely potential, it was a large room, easily bigger than three motel bathrooms put together.

To the right of the stairs were two cupboards – one linen and one holding a water heater.

The linen cupboard corned onto the hallway leading to the three bedrooms – two on the left (closet to the woods) and one on the right. The first was the smallest of the three – a lilac coloured room that wasn’t really small at all. It was easily bigger the main living space of any motel room they’d ever stayed at. There was a large window overlooking the drive and a modern silver spiral light on the ceiling with four halogen bulbs.

The adjoining bedroom was the same size as the living-room(s) down-the-stairs. Another large window overlooked the front garden but that view was somewhat diminished by the wallpaper. It was like some weird blue and green hologram pattern – and it made Sam feel even more nauseous in reality than it did viewing the photo. Thankfully Laura made this room a very quick viewing and took them across the hall into the last bedroom. This one had hideous, old lady floral wallpaper and was obviously designed to be the master bedroom. It was the same size as the last one they had seen but also had an en suite bathroom attached. The en suite wasn’t a bad size either – large enough to accommodate a toilet, sink, room-width four door base cabinet and a corner shower. Both the suite and the fixtures looked really new so Sam figured the only changes in here would be to pull off the wallpaper and swap the carpet for tiles.

“Dude, I so bags this room,” Dean said eagerly.

Sam rolled his eyes but nodded at his brother, it was only fair since the Crux Crucis of Animus had belonged to Dean and therefore the money paying for the house was technically Dean’s too – despite his declaration that it belonged to both of them.

Laura led them back down the hall and in the corner between the bathroom and the first bedroom they saw another staircase. The area around the staircase was bare and large enough to hold a decent storage area if they needed it. The whole area was lit up brightly from the large window behind the staircase.

“This leads up to the attic,” Laura explained.

They trudged up the staircase behind her and found a door at the top. Laura pushed it open to reveal a huge loft space. It was very dusty and full of spider webs but was brightly lit from two small windows at either end of the ascending walls. It could easily be made into one large, or two medium sized living spaces – perfect for storing their… possessions.

After that they returned downstairs and Laura took them out the side door. Pulling out the small bunch of keys again she unlocked the garage door and showed them the interior. It was large enough to accommodate the Impala and still leave plenty of room for storing other equipment too. There was a small puddle of water in one corner where the roof was leaking but Logan was right, it wouldn’t be hard to fix.

Laura shut the garage up and then led them through the gate into the back garden. This was when the boys really appreciated the size of plot they had bought. The garden was fucking HUGE and there was indeed a pond. From the patio doors there was a large area of decking, perfect, Sam imagined, for having a seating area and barbecue. From the gate around the house and up to the decking was a concrete path which meant the grass wouldn’t get ruined from them traipsing around all the time. Beyond the decking was a long stretch of grass leading down to the pond which had a small bridge spanning across the middle. Beyond the pond was a wall of trees that hid the back fence. Behind the fence was the woodland that obviously surrounded them on two sides. It truly felt secluded and secure –something they’d been searching for, for a long time.

At this point Sam was pretty speechless, and by the looks of things so was Dean. Neither had fully envisioned the actual size of the property – it had seemed much smaller in the pictures and after spending their lives in tiny motel rooms – this expanse was a lot to take in. Everything here was theirs.

Laura took them back in to the kitchen and they huddled around the breakfast bar filling out various forms. That took the best part of forty-five minutes. When Laura had placed the last one back into her folder she pulled out a thick ‘phone directory’, and placed it heavily on the table.

“Well here’s the local business directory – this should help you find everything you need around town. Don’t forget that Portland isn’t too far away either – if you can’t find it around here then the city is the best bet.” She pulled out two sets of keys and placed them on top of the book, “And here are your house keys. I hope you’ll both be really happy here in Astoria.”
They thanked her warmly and walked her to her car. “And if you boys ever need anything, my number is in your brochure pack.”

Then she was gone leaving the boys standing rather dazedly in front of their very first house.

Sam turned to Dean and Dean turned to Sam and together they turned back to the house with uncertain looks. Both simultaneously thinking; Holy shit, what the hell do we do now?”

Slowly they trudged back up the path and Sam shut the front door behind them, following his brother back into the kitchen. Neither of them quite knew what to say, they had never been in this position ever before. It was so hard to comprehend that this big house was theirs, all theirs, paid with legal money. What should they be doing next? What was the next logical step? What should they be saying? How should they be reacting? And why the hell did they feel so… weird.

“I suppose,” Dean said, staring around at the bare walls with a blank look, “We should decide what we need to do cos… we’re gonna need some more furniture…”

“Yeah…” Sam replied faintly, also looking around at the fugly wallpaper and thinking ‘more furniture was an understatement’, “it’s bigger than I anticipated… I think we should make a list… of what we need for every room.”

“Good idea…”

Slowly, both still rather dazed, and only speaking when they needed to, they walked around the house, listing every essential item they would require and their imminent priority. Both main bathrooms would need a completely new suite and every other room would require a paint job. All the flooring would have to be changed too.

At first it was rather daunting, neither having had to do anything like decorate a house before. But despite Dean’s initial fear that Sam would rag him for any design suggestions he quickly got enthusiastic. The best part was; Sam’s tastes turned out to be very similar to his own. Both agreed that light neutral colours would really brighten the house up and make it feel more open (and masculine). Add some small touches of colour here and there, one particular to each room, and it would give the house an interesting, modern, clean identity.

Sam got the impression that although Dean tried to act aloof and nonchalant, he was actually enjoying the whole ‘design our house’. But that got Sam to thinking whether Dean was acting shy (Sam knew him well enough to tell) because Sam was there or whether Dean was uncomfortable in himself for liking something so… opposite to his normal mentality. It made Sam feel kinda sad if it was because of him, and vowed not to make even a brotherly joke so that Dean would feel more comfortable about being himself around him.

Once they had tallied up all the furniture and DIY work required they set down an estimated budget for each room. Their bedrooms and the kitchen would be the first priority because they needed beds for their bedrooms – like tomorrow - and a fridge+oven for the kitchen a.s.a.p. These couldn’t be put in place (well they could but it would be impractical) until the flooring was done so preferably the floors had to be finished in the next few days. Basically, they wanted the house nearly completed before their three weeks were up – probably an impossible feat but they were going to try anyway. In three weeks time they wanted to be able to devote their attention fully to the hunt and their jobs.

Until they got beds they couldn’t (wouldn’t) sleep here so they’d be spending the nights until the flooring was laid in a hotel. This was another reason they wanted everything done quickly. Secondly they wanted to get their weapons stored properly before they had to go into the base. They’d have to be careful if the had workmen in as well. Thirdly, Logan was expecting to visit and it would be best to get that over with before they started too heavily on the case – it wouldn’t do to have him find something he shouldn’t. Fourthly, both expected that when they actually started working at the base neither would have much free time to spare on DIY. And fifthly, but probably most importantly, neither wanted Jethro around while work was getting done. The kitten had a tendency to get himself into mischief and Sam wasn’t sure whether paint fumes would be harmful for him. They also didn’t want him staying too long at the cattery so basically the work had to be done fast.

As they walked through the house they also talked about painting the walls and came to the decision that they’d hire in some painters to coat the whole house in one neutral base colour – giving the boys a blank canvas to add colour wherever they wanted. The other major renovation that they wanted to do was change all the lighting. At the moment each room held a single fitting in the centre of it’s ceiling, the boys wanted to see about getting halogen lights put in. This would make the rooms brighter at night – less places for unwanted guests to hide.

Sam suggested that they split up the rooms between them to manage, in effort to minimalise arguments and to speed up decisions; Sam would take the upstairs and Dean would take the downstairs. Of course, Sam would let Dean have a say in his own bedroom and the other rooms and likewise Dean would double check things with Sam about the downstairs rooms. Once that was agreed they decided that no time was like the present; so best to start making arrangements now.

Dean flipped through the directory and found a list of stores that they should try first. The most important to get scheduled was the bathroom suites, the flooring, the painting and the lighting. One of the closest places that could do laminate, carpet and tile was Randall Lee’s Flooring and Home Décor in Gearhart – which was a twenty minute drive down Highway 101.

Gearhart was a relatively flat town running parallel with its long Pacific beach. In the sunshine it would be a very pretty place. Now though, it was a rather cold place as the sky filled with heavy clouds. Sam, though, made a mental note to make a day trip here sometime – especially when he spied an interesting old bookshop on the corner.

Randall Lee’s was a large floor store on the main road, Dean parked squarely in the small designated car park and the boys headed inside the show room. Their noses were immediately assaulted with the pungent waft of real wood and new carpet. Neither could actually say they hated the smell – very few people do – so Sam put down his surge of pleasure to the fact that he hadn’t encountered either material in its new state for many, many years. Though it’s hard to accept a reasonable adult rational explanation when you’re staring around like a five year old visiting a candy store for the first time. Everywhere they looked was an abundance of various floorings – bright, colourful and strangely inviting.

“Good afternoon sirs, can I help you?” Barely across the threshold and they were accosted by a sales clerk. He was smiling widely at them; he being a slightly overweight young man (nary a day past twenty) who had a jolly, friendly exuberance which seemed to settle the uncomfortable wriggle in Sam’s stomach – the kind he felt when he was out of his depth. The guy’s (Pete on the nametag) gaze flitted momentarily to the other side of the door and craning his neck Sam saw another male clerk, with hair slicker than an oil spill, scowling back. He got the impression that these two were in some kind of competition and was kinda glad that they got the friendlier looking of the two. At least then he might get less mocking when he would inevitably prove his naivety in DIY. When Dean made no move to answer Sam stepped forward,

“Hi… um… we’ve just moved in to Astoria, today actually, and we are looking to replace all the flooring in our new house.”

“How many levels?”

“Two.”

The guy nodded, his smile widening at the prospect of such a big sale, “Please come and take a seat and we can discuss your ideas and work out the best deal.”

To Sam’s surprise the whole thing didn’t take that long, both he and Dean already knew what they wanted so it was just a matter of choosing colours and style. Sam explained that they wanted to brighten up the whole house and Pete suggested they stick to a light wood laminate and maybe a beige carpet for the upper floor. The tiles for the bathrooms were a bit more difficult to choose but Dean eventually convinced Sam for a charcoal grey faux slate. Sam had to concede that it was indeed very stylish – and masculine. After explaining about the time scale and all the other work that they would be getting done, Pete suggested that paying the small fee for extra labour would be in their interest. Extra labour meant that both the laminate flooring and the carpet could be started at the same time. It also meant that, providing there was enough material in stock, the fitters could start the next day – score! There was a lull in business, now that the January sales were well and truly over so the diary was fairly free. Also, by paying the extra fee, their priority would be bumped up to the top of the list. One of the fitters would arrive at 9 tomorrow morning to measure up the house and would check it against the current stock level. All being fine then work would start that day. Sam just blinked, he had thought this would take weeks to organise, though, when he thought about it, Pete’s increasing eagerness to help might have something to do with the competition going on with his colleague… Not that Sam was complaining…

The rooms the boys had labelled as priority would be done first; the bathrooms would wait until the new suites had been installed, which was only logical. Pete even gave them some suggestions of the best places to get bathroom suites too.

Dean had left most of the talking to Sam, instead just sitting there quietly looking rather bored. He’d put forth his opinions on the materials and that was it. As they left the store he seemed rather relieved and yet a little cynical.

“So, we need to remove all the existing carpet tonight, ourselves?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, leaning against the car while he waited for Dean to unlock the door.

“You do remember how much carpet that is?” Dean asked, arching an eyebrow at him across the roof, “I mean, where are we going to put it? And have you ever even removed carpet before because I sure ain’t?”

Sam shrugged, “I think we can put everything in the back garden for now but we’ll need a skip at some point. As for removing carpet, how hard can it be?” Famous last words of course.

The next port of call was to find some painters, who could start in the next few days. Gearhart Painting and Decorating, just up the road, couldn’t fit them in until the following month; which was no good. Dean drove them back up the highway and into Warrenton. First one there offered them a place in two weeks and was ridiculously expensive. The second place was a two man team who couldn’t take on such a big project and finish it in the time span. Third couldn’t start until the Friday but did give them a good price. Eventually luck came their way when Dean stopped to get gas and Sam wandered into the garage to pay. The clerk behind the desk was a plump woman in her late forties. She smiled warmly up and greeted him like he was an old friend. They made idle chat while Dean worked the pump and Sam asked her if she knew any other decorating firms nearby. She frowned, two perfectly shaped auburn eyebrows meeting together thoughtfully,

“How professional are you looking for?”
Sam shrugged, “We’re just looking for someone to strip and paint every room in our house, and who can start tomorrow if possible – we’re on a time limit. It’s too much for us to handle by ourselves.”

“You know my son and his friends are home for spring break and are looking for some short work, I daresay they could handle a paintbrush. I mean at least one of them is studying art. If it’s just manual labour you’re looking for I think they’d do a good job. They’re good boys.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger through the window at his brother to come in once he’d finished. He figured they’d just hit the jackpot.

They left ten minutes later after exchanging phone numbers; Mrs Lloyd’s son would call them later to confirm.

Next on the list was to see about bathroom suites. They headed to the first suggestion on Pete’s list; George Morlan Plumbing in Warrenton.

It was getting late in the day now, so the store was pretty much empty except for two tradesmen, who were collecting a bulk order. The boys hovered in the garage doorway and jumped when a deep voice asked, “Can I help you boys?”

“Um…” once again Sam found himself the one answering, “We’re look to replace our bathrooms.”

The man behind the voice appeared suddenly from behind a shelving unit – an older guy, who had this intriguing look like he’d lived through enough events to make a million films. A man who’d weathered a hundred storms, lived through hardships very few could imagine let alone believe and had witnessed enough miracles to have solid faith in god. All that, Sam thought, was written into every wrinkle on his face, both the deep frown lines and the laugh lines.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place then,” the man chuckled, “Derek Harper, come take a pew and we’ll see what we can arrange. I’ve not seen you boys before; it might be a large town but I know a lot of folk, some by name, most by face. Don’t recognise you though.”

“We’ve just moved in Astoria,” Sam explained following behind Derek to the back of the store. All around them the floor and shelves were overflowing with plumbing stuff. “Got posted to the Coastguard base here but we decided to buy our own house rather than live in the Coastguard accommodation.”

Derek nodded and grunted, “Very respectable job that, working for the coastguard. I think most of us around here owe them either our lives or our livelihood. What are you, pilots?”

“Rescue swimmers,” Dean said from the back.

Derek whistled, “Now that’s some job and a half, don’t envy you one bit. The Pacific is unforgiving; I wouldn’t be throwing myself in her for love or money. Now, tell me what you have in mind…”

Twenty-five minutes later the boys had bought two bathroom suites and spent a crazy 3400. Both came out of the store somewhat dazed. It was almost half past five now and they were getting hungry so instead of looking around for an electrician they decided to head back to Astoria. Sam would book them into a hotel while Dean would get some food and they’d head back to the house. They still had to rip up the carpets even if they weren’t sleeping there.

Dean dropped Sam off at the Holiday Inn Express and went to find a take-away, it’s not like they could cook anything and Dean, for some reason, didn’t fancy sitting in a restaurant. He picked up some Chinese, ordering their usuals and returned to pick up Sam – who was waiting outside for him.

The light was starting to wane as they pulled back onto their driveway. Sam was once again glad for their resourcefulness when he found a stash of plastic forks under his seat. They had dinner in the kitchen, hiking themselves up on the worktops with the various containers spread between them. It surprised Sam that he half expected to have to bat Jethro away from the food and suddenly realises how much he misses the kitten’s presence.

Afterwards they piled up the empties next to the sink and set about removing all the carpet. They started upstairs and it was not as easy as they first thought. By the time, the three bedrooms and the bathroom has been upped both were sweaty and out of breath.

“Who’s fucking bright idea was this?” Dean gasped, glaring across at his younger brother. Sam took it as a rhetorical question and ignored him. The hallway carpet seemed to roll on forever and Sam nearly took a tumble down the stairs as they attempted to carry it out to the back garden. They dumped it unceremoniously next to the others and turned back to the house,

“Just the downstairs to go,” Sam said, trying to sound uplifting. Dean just flipped him off.

James Lloyd phoned Sam’s cell about seven and confirmed that he and five of his friends were interested. Sam gave him the details and made an offer of 1000 – which was two hundred more than the best company would have charged them but Sam reasoned that there would be six of them (working out not even 167 each) and they would be starting the next day too. Sam and Dean would purchase the paint and stuff tomorrow if the boys wanted to come around about lunch time. James seemed pretty eager and Sam felt an element of relief that Mrs Lloyd had been right to call them good boys.

It was gone eleven by the time they had removed all the carpet and the vinyl in the utility room. Sweaty, exhausted and hungry again the boys locked up and returned to the hotel. The barmaid there took pity on them and rustled up a couple of beef sandwiches much to the boys’ appreciation. It seemed neither had lost ‘the look’ that had mothers everywhere fawning over them. The place was pretty empty at that time of night too, just a couple of business men and the odd couple, so they sat at the bar chatting to the barmaid, whose name was Stella. She gave them a brief history of the town and suggested some landmarks they had to visit. Afterwards they thanked her and headed up to bed.

While he was getting changed Sam heard Dean’s cell buzz and curiously he fished it out his brother’s discarded jacket. It was a text from Lillith; Hey D, have u arrvd yet? Give me a cll bk. Dn’t matter wot time it is.

Sam decided to call her himself.

“Hey Lillith, it’s Sam… yeah, about half two… It was long, very long… stopped over in Montana… oh he’s fine… bathroom… I’m sure he will… Um, it’s nice and big – much bigger than we expected. We’ve got someone coming over in the morning to measure up the floors and if all goes well then they’ll start laying in the afternoon. We’ve also secured some college guys to come paint the house for us too… what? Yeah, it’s been quite a productive day. I dunno, you’ll have to ask him yourself but I think he likes it… No, I think we’ll wait until most of the work is done, don’t want to put him in danger.” Sam heard the toilet flush and then a second later the taps turn on, “Mmmhmm… mmmhmm. Yeah?” The bathroom door opened and Dean trundled out, frowning when he saw Sam on the phone, “Hey Dean’s here, you wanna speak?” He laughed, “Okay, okay, here, I’ll pass you over.” He held out his cell to Dean who took it gingerly, “It’s Lillith.”

Dean’s frown melted into a smile, “Hey Lils! How was the first day? Sewing eh, sounds like it sucked.”

Sam swung his legs up onto the bed and leant back against the headboard, hands behind his head. It was weird to listen to his brother chat on the phone. Well to someone who wasn’t involved in either a case or hunting in general. In fact, other than Bobby and Ellen Sam didn’t think he’d ever listened to Dean just chat to anyone on the phone – neither of them had had many friends – and certainly not ones that they still kept in touch with. He, Sam, had tried to keep in contact with his Uni buddies at Stanford but sometimes the hunt got so involved it was days between emails, which lapsed into weeks, which lapsed into a year – and Sam didn’t think he’d be contacting them again. There wasn’t much point; he had new friends, a new life, and Dean. What else did he need?

He closed his eyes and listened to Dean’s side of the conversation letting his brother’s quiet enthusiasm and cheerful nattering lull him to sleep.

Dean did not want to get up the next morning, Sam had to resort to evil measures such as throwing his duvet across the room, opening the curtains, turning on the TV and, eventually, pouring icy cold water on his face. The latter nearly got him a black eye but luckily Sam dodged in time (only just). Someone would be at the house to start measuring at nine so they had to get going. As a compromise Sam got Dean two cups of really good coffee and some sticky cinnamon buns for breakfast.

The house was cold, dark and unwelcoming when they got there. The heating had been turned off and the unsightly walls just didn’t inspire much. Sam surfed his laptop for local furniture stores while Dean rounded up a skip from the local business directory.

“Sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Dean reported with a sigh, “So I guess we can leave things in the garden today. Incidentally, are we going to have to buy a new kettle?”

Sam frowned, peering up from the screen, “Hmm? Why would we want a new kettle?”

Dean shrugged, “Well in all the movies I’ve seen the handymen, usually called Stan, get coffee provided and since ours is in storage…”

“Yeah, I think we’ll have to,” Sam nodded, “Half a dozen cups as well. Look, there’s somewhere I want to check out in town, if you want to stay here and wait for this fitter, I’ll get the kettle and things while I’m out.”

Dean didn’t have much choice as Sam all but snatched the car keys out his hand and left. Anyway, the fitter arrived at the same time Sam backed out the drive. The guy introduced himself as Stan, which amused Dean no end, and pulled out the biggest tape measure Dean had ever seen.

“Overcompensating much?” The words were out his mouth before his brain engaged in any censoring so Dean was very relieved when Stan started laughing, hysterically.

“Oh man, I don’t know what’s funnier, the words or the look of horror on your face.”

“Sorry…” Dean stuttered, “I don’t know why I said-”

Stan waved him off, “Nah, its fine man, you’re funny; I like you.”

Stan got on with his measuring as Dean sat himself on the kitchen counter again with Sam’s laptop and surfed the internet for a free architect program. Eventually he downloaded 3DHA Home Design Deluxe which allowed him to mock up rooms and view them in 3D.

Sam returned just after ten with a couple of bags, “I found this furniture place not far from here called Steals and Deals,” he called from the doorway and he shucked his coat, “they sell liquidation and clearance overstock furniture. A lot of its top brand stuff and good quality, they weren’t open yet but from what I could see they’ve got some interesting items. No point forking out a tonne of money when we could get good stuff really cheap. And they deliver.”

“Sure, we can check it out later,” Dean replied, quickly saving and shutting down his application. Not point in giving Sam any more fodder for mockery.

Sam materialised in the doorway and gave him a wary look, staring at the laptop and Dean’s hovering hands, “What you been up to?”

“Just checking out some ideas for the rooms,” Dean replied guardedly, “Got a few but I guess we’ll just have to see what’s available.”

Sam nodded, still looking suspicious and dumped his purchases on the breakfast bar, “Oh hey, I picked up a few catalogues too, want to pick a bed?”

Dean practically snatched it out his hands eagerly and Sam chuckled and headed for the stairs, “Make a list of anything else you want and I’ll order it this afternoon.”

Sam left his brother to peruse and went to check up on the fitter. He found him kneeling in the third bedroom.

“Hi, I’m Sam, how’s it going?”

Stan smiled up at him, and up and up… “Wow you’re tall.” Sam snorted as the fitter jumped to his feet, “Just got the bathroom to measure up and that’ll be me.”

Sam spied the big tape measure, “Oh, do you have another one of those that I could borrow? It’s just that we are going to get some paint today and I need to measure the walls to find out how much.”

“Well I can save you a huge job. My computer,” he gestured at the laptop on the floor, “Has got every wall dimension bar height. And…” He pushed the tape up the wall, deftly running ceiling to floor, “The height of every room is eight feet. So just multiply the dimensions by height, add it together, then times it by the number of coats and hey presto.”

“I like you.”

Stan laughed, “You’re welcome.”

It took Sam the best part of twenty minutes to work out every dimension because there were a lot of walls; he was quite stunned at the final total. Over 13150 square feet – that’s for two coats.

“Sam!” Dean called up the stairs and Sam quickly returned to the kitchen.

“Right,” Stan said, flipping his cell closed, “We have enough carpet in stock for the upstairs but the laminate downstairs we’re a little short but only by about half a room. I daresay we can have an order in by Friday, which shouldn’t cause too much of a problem. It’s going to take us a day or two to lay it all anyway but is there a room that you don’t mind leaving until the stock arrives, just in case it isn’t here by Friday?”

“The room opposite the living room. That’s least priority.” Dean said.

Stan nodded, “Okay, well then, I’m going to head back to the store and get the guys to load up,” he glanced at his watch, “I think we’ll be back here about one. Now,” he looked at Dean, “You mentioned about painters coming, I think you should get them started in your least priority areas until we’ve got the bedrooms and kitchen laid.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded, it made sense.

“Also, the notes from my colleague say that you’re getting new bathroom’s put in, have you got a date yet?”

“No,” Sam replied, “There’s a guy coming out either today or tomorrow to measure up so I don’t think they’ll get started until Thursday or Friday. But we’ll let you know as soon as we do.”

“Okay, that’s excellent; I’ll be on my way. Oh… incidentally, are you by any chance thinking about changing the lighting? I noticed that the fixtures are quite… dated.”

“Actually,” Sam replied, “We are, do you know anyone?”

“Yeah,” said Stan, scratching his chin, “My buddy Morris is an electrician, a damn good one too, he’s fitted lighting in probably a quarter of the town. Never had any complaints. I could give him a ring if you’re interested?”

“Yeah?” Sam glanced at Dean who nodded, “That’ll be good, we’re looking to change it all to halogen spot lights.”

“Cool, I’ll let him know, have you got a contact number I can give him?”

“Sure,” Sam recited his cell number as Stan typed it into his laptop.

“Right then, I’ll see you later.”

As soon as Stan was gone the boys jumped into the Impala and headed down Highway 101 to the hardware store they’d passed yesterday. In the paint isle they had a good natured debate over whether cream white was better than ochre white but eventually settled on ivory white. The sales assistant did a double take when he heard the quantity that they required: 120 litres. The paint came in 5 litre tins so that was 24 tins altogether!

“You want 24 tins of ivory white?” The poor assistant stammered, thinking he’d misheard.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, smiling like it wasn’t an odd thing to request, “Is that a problem?”

“Um…” The guy looked anxiously between Dean and Sam, as though checking to see if they were joking, neither flinched, Sam’s face completely calm, Dean’s face hard and challenging. The assistant swallowed heavily, “Hold on a moment while I check the stock supply.” He all but ran away into the back and Dean chuckled. Sam snorted and punched his brother’s shoulder, “Now that you’ve probably scared the shit out of that poor guy why don’t you let me wait here for him while you go and get the paintbrushes and stuff?”

“Fine,” Dean trudged off up the aisle, Sam spoiled all his fun.

They stopped at a café on the way back to grab some lunch. On top of the twenty four can of paint, they purchased three sets of paintbrushes, four wallpaper scrapers, some paint tubs, sandpaper (and block), dust sheets (for the flooring), bulk box of masking tape, spirit, polyfiller, several tins of obliterating paint, some sponges and buckets. Sam hoped that would be enough, it wasn’t like he’d painted walls before. Dad had barely let them stay in one place long enough for the fridge to get cold let alone make any interior design changes.

“You know, this crab sandwich is pretty awesome,” Dean declared out of nowhere, inspecting his food closely, “I think we should try out some of the seafood places around here.”

“Sure, we can go somewhere tonight if you want.”

They didn’t have seafood much; tuna and the odd prawn sandwich were usually as far as that particular pallet stretched. It’ll be nice to try somewhere new and since they were in a seaside town, here was probably the best place to try it.
The painting boys arrived just after half noon. James, Pete, Rob, Aaron, CJ and Guy; all of them were pretty cool and polite. Sam showed them around the house and explained what they wanted. Luckily the boys seemed pretty clued up about what to do and started to confer with each other about rinsing times versus paint hold. Sam left them to it and told them to help themselves to coffee whenever they wanted. By the time he got downstairs Dean was opening the front door to the floor layers. In the end, the boys took refuge in the kitchen, leaving the chaos to work itself. Instead, they browsed through the catalogues and circled things they wanted. They even disappeared over to that store Steals and Deals Sam had found and picked out half their list. Neither was worried about leaving the house unwatched as there was nothing in it worth stealing, yet. Basically they just stayed out of the workmen’s way. Later in the afternoon someone came over to measure up the bathrooms. Dean let Sam handle it because… because he had a little project of his own. A surprise for Sam although he wasn’t entirely sure of the details yet. So he spent all morning on the laptop playing with his downloaded design software and looking through the stack of magazines he’d got at the hardware store.

The flooring guys packed up at five and both were surprised at how fast they’d got the carpet laid. The whole top floor was done and it looked… well… nice. Dean couldn’t help but slip his socks off and pad up and down in what was going to be his bedroom. The carpet was really soft and springy and smelled as awesome as new carpet does. Sam found him mid play and laughed, which ended up in an embarrassing wrestling match. Only embarrassing because CJ, Guy and Aaron caught them and while very amused, they refused to believe it was anything other than a romantic tussle.

That night Sam kept his word about seafood and they went for dinner at The Ship Inn. It was only ten minutes walk down the road. The Ship Inn was an English style pub, fairly quaint inside offering casual dining with great views of the Columbia River. It was famous for its fish and chips as well as seafood, sandwiches and soups. The bar had international and home beers are on tap too, which sealed the deal. It was also very busy, with lots of families, local and tourist, packed inside and out. Luckily they had been smart to don thick fleeces so when it seemed unlikely they’d get a seat inside they didn’t bother too much sitting outside in the slightly chilly night air.

“What you want to drink?” Dean asked, fishing out his wallet, as Sam settled on a bench.

“Beer please.”

“Okay, if the waitress comes over order me the battered halibut and chips.”

Almost the second Dean disappeared inside a waitress came over. Sam ordered them both the halibut. When she had gone Sam settled back on the bench and breathed in deeply. The air was thick with brine - almost cloying at the back of his throat. And yet there was on sweetness on the tip of his tongue like sun-baked tree sap. This was the scent of home from now on and… he liked it. Nary a stones throw away the great span of the Columbia River bumped and swayed, offering its own jingling of boat reels to the cacophony of chatter, laughter and clicking cutlery. There were about twelve other filled tables around them, the occupant faces bright and happy, glad to be among friends and family. It made Sam feel both instantly longing for his own parents and yet strangely loving and grateful for his own brother. He felt a sharp pang, missing his brother’s presence desperately even though he would be back within minutes. Dean made his life bright, he made his life colourful, he brought laughter, comfort and companionship in ways nobody else had.

Someone like Dean, if he were to find his perfect other-half then it would be someone like Dean.

“Hey, check this out,” Dean said loudly in an awed voice. Sam still found it amusing that his brother converted to the likeness of a four year old whenever he got excited. He spotted the two pint glasses in Dean’s hand, ruby red and dripping with condensation.

“What are those?”

“They’re English pints,” Dean said as he placed one down in front of him with a flourish; “You’ll never guess what the beer’s called.”
Sam raised an expecting eyebrow as Dean swung himself onto the other side of the bench, this ought to be good.

“Hobgoblin.”

“Hobgoblin?”

“Yeah, and check this, the brewery’s called Wychwood.”

Sam surveyed the giddy grin on his brother’s face for a moment before shaking his head, “You know there’s a word for people like you but… I don’t think it’s safe to repeat in public.”

“Seriously dude, just try it, it’s awesome.”

Well, when it came to alcohol, especially beer, Dean was quite the expert so… Sam took a cautious sip and… my god, it was good. Strong in roasted malt with a moderate bitterness and a twist of fruity character just at the end – man, Dean sure knew how to choose them.

The food was unbelievably good too. The fish soft and fluffy, the batter crunchy and the chips simply melt in the mouth. The portion was huge and Sam savoured every last mouthful. They were so coming back here. When he was finished he sat back, completely stuffed and probably in need of a Tum. Dean was looking at him with a soft of dopey, pleased smile that was rather unnerving.

“What?”

“Nice to see your appetite’s back.”

“Nothing wrong with my appetite,” Sam replied indignantly.

“It’s just with your visions…” Dean trailed off and glanced across at another table, “Say, you want some ice cream?”

“Nuh…” Sam felt his brain scream yes and his overfed stomach yell no.

“We can share…”

“Peppermint.”

Sam and Dean got to the house by eight the next morning, tired but eager to get to work again. Dean had stopped at a small store to buy some rolls for breakfast and to get some more coffee – a bigger jar because the workmen certainly got through it quickly. Mind you there were usually about ten to twelve of them in the house. While he was fixing up a pot for them, Sam trudged sleepily down the path to the mailbox, it was chilly this morning and he wished he’d put on a sweater. In the distance he could hear the typical morning sounds of school runs; cars starting up and children laughing and shouting. Wouldn’t be long until the guys arrived - maybe today the bathroom fitter would come.

“Hi!”

Sam’s head snapped around at the greeting, a woman waved at him from the house across the street (No. 1019) and started to walk towards him. She was a well rounded woman, about medium height, with short blonde hair that had that dry look as though it had suffered years of dye damage. She was dressed in a smart navy suit, obviously just heading to work. Despite her worn-out appearance she had a genuine smile and the look of someone with a lot of positive energy.

“Hi,” Sam replied, walking across the street to meet her.

“Hello, Dawn Drylaw,” she introduced herself, reaching out and shaking his hand, “pleased to finally meet you. I was going to pop over after work to say hello – would have done sooner but I’m so busy this week, what with my husband up in Portland and the kids constantly out at their various clubs.” She paused to take in a deep breath, “So how are you settling in…?”

“Sam.” He supplied quickly, “Sam Clarke and yeah, we really like it here so far. House needs quite a bit of work so I apologise if the work vans cause you any bother.”

“Oh not at all,” she smiled knowingly, “Lou and Debbie had… unique tastes.”

“Not by half-” Sam started before he was cut off by Dean’s concerned voice,

“Sam? How long does it take to…” he appeared at the front door, his faded blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves, casually showing off his muscular arms. The funny thing was that Dean probably didn’t even do it deliberately. “Oh,” was all Dean said as he noticed Dawn.

Sam waved him over, “This is my… uh… house partner,” Dean shot him a disgruntled look for that and Sam blushed, “D- Zack Reilly. Zack this is Dawn Drylaw she lives at 1019.”

“Hi,” Dean shook her hand and smiled his patented cocky Dean Winchester smile.

“Hi,” She replied sweetly, glancing him over in a way that suggested she sure liked what she saw. Then her gaze turned back on Sam and he felt himself blush as she eyed him over too. “Well, aren’t you both a handsome pair.”

Luckily, before either of them could reply a little girl, about seven, ran up to them,

“Momma! Andy won’t give me Loo-Loo; he keeps threatening to throw her over the fence!”

Dawn pulled a face and shook her head apologetically at the boys, “Sorry,” then she bellowed “Andrew Kincaid Drylaw, you get your butt here this instant!”

A boy, dressed in a similar school uniform as his sister, although shirt untucked and tie askew, ran down the drive, “She started it!” He whined, “She kept putting O’s in my juice!”

“That’s enough you two; now I want you to come meet your new neighbours. This is Zack and Sam, they’ve just moved into Lou and Debbie’s old house.” To the boys she said, “This is my son Andrew and my daughter Lauren.” The kids smiled nervously up at them, Lauren half hiding behind her mother. They both had light brown hair – the kind that turns to blond in the summer sun and huge brown eyes – just like their mother’s. Despite their display of shyness both had the sneaky, dimpled smiles of a pair of cheeky toe rags, the type of kids who were in to everything and could never sit still. Sam liked them at once, they reminded him of Dean at their age – when he was at him most unguarded.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully and Dean echoed him. The kids waved and then started fidgeting. Dawn tapped them on the head and pushed them back towards the drive, “Go get in the car.”

The kids ran off and Dawn turned back to the boys, “You must pop in for a coffee sometime – Kyle’ll be back Friday, I’m sure he’ll love to meet you.”

“Thanks. We will.”

As they walked back into the house Dean punched Sam’s arm, “House partner, can you be more gay?”

“Sorry… I just… hesitated… what did you want me to say instead?”

“Oh sweetheart, are you embarrassed by me?” Dean mocked, batting his eyelashes like a three dollar hooker. Sam swatted him around the head,

“Shut it and go make me a coffee bitch.”

“Hey!” Dean protested, shoving Sam into the hall wall, “If anyone’s the girl in this relationship, it’s you!”

Sam shrugged and pushed himself upright again, looming up over his brother, “I’m taller, I’m more proportionate and I’m the one who de-spiders the bath.”

Dean scowled at him, “You’re going to hold that over me forever aren’t you?”

Sam just nodded, giving him a blinding grin.

At nine o’clock the next morning the chaos started up again, this time with the constant sound of banging; the laminate was getting laid in the kitchen and the open area around the staircase. The painting boys had managed to strip and sand down the bedrooms after the guys had laid the carpet last night. So Aaron put the first coat on Dean’s wall, Pete did the same on Sam’s wall (Sam had chosen the bedroom opposite Dean’s), Rob and Guy tackled the upstairs hallway and James and CJ worked around the floor layers in the kitchen, stripping off the ugly wallpaper. Aaron suggested that they arrange to have the beds delivered tomorrow. The paint would be dry enough in a couple of hours to put on the second coat.

Sam did just that, he phoned up Steals and Deals and arranged to have the stuff he’d ordered for those two rooms delivered.

Dean seemed to be utterly preoccupied in the second living-room space so Sam went out into town to buy some… stuff. Like he was going to tell Dean he was buying curtains and towels and bed linen. However, just to make the trip less of a free-for-all mockery he stopped by the paint store again and chose some colours for the bedrooms. He’d decided to paint two walls of Dean’s blue (which was the colour Dean had wanted) and his own two shades of brown – one a toffee, the other a chocolate. The blue he chose for Dean’s was a deep rich cornflower type blue that he was sure Dean would love.

By five that day, Sam and Dean’s bedrooms had two coats, so did the upstairs hallway. The living-room had be sanded and obliterated to mask the hideous magenta and purple. The kitchen was devoid of the awful wallpaper and was ready for its two coats tomorrow. The floor layers had the whole kitchen laid and most of the open area around the stairs – considering it was as big as the kitchen and dining room combined, it was quite some feat.

Sam also got a call from the base asking if they would be available to come in on Friday morning, nine o’clock sharp to meet with Chief Commander Claydon. They would also get the chance to meet their colleagues and look around the base. Sam agreed.

They had dinner that night at the Silver Salmon Grille, which was a little bit more up market than the Ship Inn but just as casual and relaxed. They’d gone back to the hotel, showered and changed into some casual shirts and slacks. Stella, the barmaid, recommended this place for some different seafood. As they perused the menu, Sam glanced across the table and realised that this was really the first time since breakfast that he’d seen his brother. He kinda missed him without knowing it, how strange.

Dean ordered the Fresh Dungeness crab with provolone cheese and herb bread crumbs, grilled and served with a roasted red pepper and chive garlic cream. Fairly adventurous for a guy who swore by grilled steak – Sam was impressed. He, himself, chose Salmon fillet encrusted with toasted pecans and butter grilled, finished with scallions, sauteed gulf shrimp and brie champagne cream. It was incredible. For dessert Dean had hot chocolate pudding cake while Sam nearly made himself sick on chocolate marble cheesecake. God, how many punishing lengths would it take to burn all this off?

Afterwards, they walked slowly down the boardwalk next to the river. The sun was going down now, the last few rays casting golden over the scattering of clouds. There was a slight wind that chapped at their faces and made their eyes water. In front and above them the Astoria Bridge, in it’s magnificent glory was lit up in outline by a long string of white lights and the red markers of the top of the spans. Across the water bobbed several finished boats and wayfarers, their little lights looking like fireflies skimming a pond.

There was a steady roar of traffic, not loud but just noticeable and amongst it was the distinct sound of town life. There was still the peeling cry of gulls high over head and the clink of boat reels. However, it was all calmed by the gentle lapping of water against the wooden legs of the pontoons.

Sam sighed happily as they strolled along. Several people passed them, walking in the opposite direction; a late jogger, a dog walker, some couples, a family just coming back from an evening out. They all nodded politely and smiled, moving on without ceremony. It was peaceful, in a permanent way neither had felt for a long, long time. Their hotel backed onto the boardwalk just next to the river but they walked on past, heading for a pretty, grassy sandbank where there were some benches overlooking scenery that few got to appreciate.

Sam sat down on the bench, shivering slightly as the chill wind crept inside his jacket. Dean wandered down to the small outcrop of rocks, exploring in his quiet way. Sam watched him, marvelling in the restfulness imparting his brother’s steps. Dean hadn’t been this relaxed in a long while. Sam squinted, trying to see better in the dim light, he wasn’t imagining it, Dean looked younger, as though he’d shed several years with half his worries. He was a handsome man, always had been, but now, it was all the more obvious.

He blinked as Dean turned and walked back towards him, sinking down onto the bench with an audible sigh. Instinctively Sam shuffled closer, seeking the body heat, his fingers were turning icy.

“Cold?” Dean asked quietly, his voice rough with having said nothing for a while.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, shifting closer and leaning up against his shoulder. Dean let him, tilting his head to rest lightly against Sam’s. They sat there a while, watching the boats and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Eventually, as Sam fell into a peaceful doze against him, Dean turned and pressed a quick kiss against his brother’s forehead, “Come on; let’s go back.”

Sam suddenly never felt so warm in all his life.

Thursday was an incredibly productive day. Sam not only painted the bedrooms and got the King-sized beds installed but he also fully furnished them too. They’d be able to sleep there tonight. Both rooms were pretty similarly laid out. In his room he had the bed in the middle of the hall-side wall, a bedside table on the right nearest the door. He had bought a table lamp and a new alarm clock – Dean was going to keep the old one (which was pretty new anyway). He also had a wardrobe, a set of drawers, a full length mirror (because the CG was unflappable about uniform presentation), a black line painting of the Astoria Bridge that he’d simply loved in Steals and Deals, and a brown and cream oval rug. Over the window he hung a set of heavy cream curtains, which stood out brilliantly against the chocolate coloured paint. It looked very stylish and very masculine; Dean couldn’t mock him too much.

Dean’s room was pretty much the same except in blue. The rug Sam had found was a large cream rectangle and striped in almost the same colour of blue as the walls. The en suite wall and the door wall were the ones Sam had chosen to paint. So altogether the effect was very modern. Sam had one more surprise since Dean had arranged for their furniture to be moved out of storage. It arrived just before lunch, adding more chaos into the mix and Sam found himself having to lug it all into the kitchen by himself. Once it was inside and the truck had driven away, Sam started sorting out where everything would go. The spare chest of drawers and the wardrobe would go into the spare bedroom. The flat-pack sofa, the TV and its cabinet Dean could deal with. That left the kitchen box (which was Dean’s to deal with too), the bathroom one which Sam would put in the en suite and their bedroom stuff. Amongst their possessions was Lillith’s birthday present to Dean, which was what Dam was looking for. Once he located it at the bottom of Dean’s box he then had the dilemma of how to secure it to the wall.

Like yesterday, Dean was away doing his own thing, disappearing all morning and this time he took the Impala.

The kitchen got its two coats, so did the living room; the ‘open space’ as Sam had nicknamed the area around the stairs was primed ready to be painted the next day. Flooring wise; the rest of the open space was done and so was the living room. Sam had no clue about the other front room because Dean wouldn’t let him see it and for some juvenile reason Sam was getting annoyed at Dean’s preoccupation with it. The only time, since breakfast, that Dean had talked to Sam was when the kitchen appliances arrived and Dean asked if Sam could hurry up and move their old furniture out of the way. His brother seemed distant, completely different from the previous night. Anyway, it probably didn’t help that Sam spent most of the day upstairs, firstly painting and getting all the furniture together, and then unpacking all their stuff. It was quite fun, Sam thought, snooping through his brother’s box, even though he had seen everything in there anyway.

When he eventually returned downstairs to the kitchen, about five, gasping for a drink, he found that the flooring guys were packing up. The whole downstairs looked completely different now that it was all wooden floors and cream walls. It was so bright and airy.

The layers hadn’t quite finished the hallway but Aaron and Rob were obliterating the walls. The boys usually worked on till six or until it was pointless to start anything new. They were hoping the painting would be finished on Saturday but the boys had promised to come in on Sunday if not – Monday they’d be back to college.

He got a shock though when he padded into the kitchen. Dean was hard at work scrubbing down the counter, but that wasn’t the shock. At some point Dean had got all the kitchen appliances fitted and the area was nearly complete, just needed a touch of colour somewhere. The wide silver fridge freezer they’d chosen was in its place and cooling, the brand new range oven with gas hobs was on the opposite wall under the built-in cooker hood, all clean, shiny and beckoning for use. There were four stylish black stools around the breakfast bar and Dean had obviously unpacked their kitchen box. In the kitchen they’d inherited a full set of brand new medium-coloured oak cabinets. Along the window side was a single row of bases with doors, the fridge was sandwiched between the end of the cabinets and the breakfast bar. Adjacent to this, from the wall to the utility door, was the sink and draining board, sitting within another base cabinet with doors. Opposite from the window, smack between the archway and the utility side, was the new double range cooker. Dean had obviously polished up the hood, which now looked brand new. Either side of the cooker were two base cabinets. The left side was a double door; the right was a single door with a bank of drawers. Above, hanging from the ceiling down, were corresponding wall cabinets. The one nearest the arch was a glass-door, which would eventually hold their glassware (once they got some that was). The counter was a classy black marble that continued even onto the breakfast bar. To finish it all off Dean had bought some other kitchen accessories; a large wooden bread bin with matching coffee, tea and sugar canisters, a mug tree, a utensil jar, a kitchen roll holder and some new wooden chopping boards. Who knew Dean had it in him?

“Wow.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he offered an unsure smile, “You like it?”

“Yeah dude,” Sam said spinning around slowing, “It’s awesome. If this is a taste of what’s to come then I can’t wait to see the living room.”

Dean ducked his head slightly, as though self-conscious, “Um… well it still needs some colour, you any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Sam considered, “You probably want something rich and strong… maybe a dark green, or burgundy or even a dark blue.”

“You’re probably right, I’ll think of something. So…”

“So I finished our rooms, though we probably want to give the en-suite a thorough cleaning before we use it. The tiling isn’t done in there either yet but everything else is complete.”

Dean really liked his room, especially the Laser Stars Projector that Sam had set up – though it wasn’t dark enough yet to see clearly. Sam had the windows open as far as possible to try and dispel the strong odour of paint and new carpet.

Dean had chosen a strong kingsize bed made of pine with a short rounded back board and, of course, it was his first port of call. He fell flat across it with a whoop of delight, spreading his limbs out wide and sighing in bliss when his feet didn’t even come close to the end of the bed let alone hang off it. Oh, he had been waiting for this day for a long, long, long time.

Eventually he rolled over and looked up at Sam, who was standing hands on hips, grinning at him.

“It’s awesome Sam, but I think it’s missing a couple of things.”

“Yeah?” Sam sat himself on the edge of the mattress, surprised when the bed didn’t even make a groan of protest.

“A picture I think, for above the bed, it looks a little bare. Maybe you could do one for me?”

Sam was surprised, “You want me to paint you a picture?”

“I’d like you to paint me a picture, but you don’t have to.”

“Um… yeah… ok… I’ll see what I can do. What else you missing?”

“A 48” flatscreen TV for right just there,” Dean pointed to the wall opposite the bed.

Sam snorted and smothered his brother with a pillow.

They ordered in Chinese that night and ate together at the breakfast bar. Afterwards Dean set up their old TV on floor with his new Playstation in the ‘open space’, while Sam went to the store for some basic groceries and beer – he’d do a proper shop tomorrow. When he got back they spent the rest of the night punching at the controllers, play fighting and talking smack.

When the alarm woke him up the next morning, Dean moaned from under his pile of bed covers and stuck out an arm to sweep the incessant thing off the night table. It took him several attempts as he hadn’t quite adjusted to the extra length of his new, kickass bed. However, as luck would have it, one aimless sweep managed to knock the thing onto the floor and the room was blissfully silent once again. He got away with dozing for about three minutes before his door banged open.

“Figured you’d still be in bed,” Sam muttered as he walked over to the curtains and threw them open. Dean wailed from the bed and yanked the covers over his head. “Rise and shine dude, we gotta go to work.”

Slowly, Dean’s head poked up from under the duvet, his hair sticking up in every direction. Sam lobbed a towel at his head, “Go get a shower and I’ll make some breakfast.”

When Dean just stared back at him stupidly, Sam rolled his eyes, “Coastguard Base? Job? Meeting at 9 with the Station Commander? Ring any bells?”

“Oh…” Dean nodded slowly, looking a little disappointed, “yeah…”

“Come on, get your ass out of bed, we don’t want to be late. Breakfast in the kitchen ten minutes – hurry up.”

Dean dragged himself reluctantly out of bed and showered quickly before donning his ‘uniform of the day’. They had a decent breakfast of cereal, toast and apples and then jumped into the Impala. Yesterday, they’d arranged for the painter boys and the floor layers to come in at lunch time instead, since neither of them would be at home. Now that they actually had valuable stuff in the house, they couldn’t leave it unwatched.

The base was situated just on the other side of Youngs Bay, though the road went in a wide arc around it. Altogether it was about ten minutes worth of driving. The base was surrounding by flat green – slightly marshy fields – and ran a stones throw beside the water inlet that made up the inner sanctum of Young’s Bay. The crisp morning was full of crying gulls and the typical vague roaring one connects with an ocean town. The air was rain fresh and slightly stale with salt and drying sea-plant. Yet through the heavy brine hung the heady scent of woodland pine, testament to the greenery surrounding the town. Dean slowed the car to a crawl as he pulled into the main gate. There was an armed guard already waiting outside the booth, gun slung over one shoulder, uniform in pristine textbook order. Dean, with an odd nervousness, rolled down his window and presented his and Sam’s ID’s. Beyond the barrier Sam could see various white bricked buildings and well kept grounds, similar to Petaluma Training Centre. The sentry took the ID cards out of Dean’s hands and studied them critically, his eyes darting between the photos and the brothers. Then he gives the Impala a long, sweeping look of curiosity,

“Nice car,” he acknowledges with a faint Russian accent, “I have not seen you before.” He handed Dean back the ID’s, “What is your business?”

“We have an appointment with Commanding Officer Donald Claydon.”

The guy nodded and looked back, into the side cabin, “Adams, check the schedule, Clarke and Reilly.”

Dean noticed for the first time that there was another body in the booth – made sense to have a two man team on guard. The glass window on the booth reflected the dull cloudy sky to the extreme that Dean couldn’t really make out the other guy inside. But from the dark profile he looked of average size; fit and potentially handsome. Not that Dean considered him so but he expected this to be the view of many women. The sentry outside with them was taller, nearly as tall as his gigantor brother and probably in his mid forties. He had that slightly refined look of someone foreign and faintly European or Middle Eastern; slightly slanted eyes, skin a shade too dark to be natural tan and stubborn curly hair - the type that still looks unruly even at a shave of a number 2. He then glances towards the guy’s ID badge; Mikail Gorsky. Hmm, so he was right, the guy was of Russian descent – or somewhere thereabouts – could be Ukrainian or Latvian or something. Not that he was clued up on European and Russian countries or anything, it’s just in his tenth grade they had an en mass of exchange students from that area and he’d hustled a few Latvians and Ukrainian’s out of their leisure money. Though it was tough going, some of those guys could play a mean hand and their alcohol tolerance, even at that age, had been mightily impressive. Not many people could drink Dean Winchester under the table, that was certain.

“Will you be with us long?” Gorsky asked politely, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.

“Might be, we’re the new rescue swimmers,” he replied.

“Ah!” Gorsky suddenly looked interested, “I wondered when you would be arriving, though shouldn’t you be reporting to the Duty Officer rather than the Commander?”

“No,” Sam cut in, leaning over the seat, “We have orders to see the Commander.”

Gorsky frowned at him and nodded once, tersely, as though disgruntled at Sam’s stern tone but didn’t say comment.

“All clear,” his partner called, “Admin.”

“Okay,” Gorsky said, almost reluctantly, “first right, report to the admin reception and they’ll escort you to Commanding Officer Claydon.”

“Thank you.”

Dean put the car in gear and drove through the gates. In his rear view mirror he could see the guard frowning after them. Great, not even started yet and people were already suspicious.

Like instructed, he took the first right and immediately spotted the designated car-parking. Slowly he navigated into a space and switched off the engine. The base was indeed similar in style to both Elizabeth City and Petaluma although it had a few more bushes and flower beds. The administration building was at the end of this car-park, a long plain but well kept rectangle thing with ‘USCG Astoria’ plaqued on the front. With a deep breath Dean clicked off his seat belt and opened his door, automatically straightening the invisible creases in his ODU. Sam did the same and they headed up into the main reception area. Inside was bright and airy, the walls painted a bland white with blue carpeted floors. On the left was a huge brass board with various names attributed to various different deeds. Some in memoriam, some in recognition and some of whom were rewarded for particular meritorious action. The Coastguard certainly took pride in its own.

To the right of the entrance door was a large desk which backed onto a very busy open office. There was a low murmur of chatter, nearly drowned out by the constantly ringing phones and cacophony of typing.

“Can I help you?” The uniformed officer manning the desk asked briskly. She was a tough, bulky woman, with hard grey eyes and sleek hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Dean got the feeling she didn’t suffer fools gladly and nor did she spare on niceties if they weren’t vital.

“Yes,” Sam replied, handing their badges over, “Ensign Sam Clarke and Zack Reilly to report to Commanding Officer Claydon.”

“One moment please.” She punched in a few buttons on her phone and muttered so lowly into the mouthpiece that neither of them could make out what she said. A few seconds later she replaced the handset and stood up,

“You will follow me.”

Without pause she exited out the side gate and the boys shared a rolling glance of ‘courteous girl isn’t she’ and marched smartly after her. Through the double doors that separated the lobby from the rest of the building the interior was decorated just as tastefully elegant All along the walls were various sized framed photographs, paintings and newspaper clippings. Some of them were simply amazing, like the four by six foot photo of a Jayhawk hovering over a rescue boat in the middle of a perfect blue ocean. Indeed, within the hierarchy there was obviously still a firm pride for the service – which was uplifting to see in today’s money driven society.

Like almost every other high commanding office, Claydon’s was minimalist while extruding the grand and expensive. The walls were wooden panelled, except one made completely out of one way glass. However, it was also decorated with similar pictures as those out in the hall and though it had the opportunity to feel pretentious: it really didn’t. The reception officer stopped outside the door and knocked sharply. A deep voice beckoned her to enter. She opened the door and marched in, leaving the boys fidgeting slightly in the hallway.

“Yes, yes, bring them in,” the male voice said and the boys marched into the centre of the office, saluted (as protocol demanded) and stood to attention. Commanding Officer Donald Claydon sat behind his huge oak desk, a tall, bulking man, in his late forties. He had what society would call distinguished grey around the temples and a weathered face that suggested he was someone both deceptively smart and very experienced. Deep lines and wrinkles framed his eyes, a sign of many hard times, and his pallor had that rugged appearance one adopts after years of harsh weather conditions. Like Caswell, Claydon had a presence about him that was both powerful and commanding of respect. Dean got the impression that he was going to be proud to serve under this man’s rule.

Behind him and flanked by two American Flags was a huge bay window overlooking the car park and the rest of the base. A portal that could let him see his workforce whenever he needed to be sure all things were running smoothly.

Claydon stood up and saluted them back before stretching across the desk to shake their hands,

“Welcome to Astoria Gentlemen,” he greeted warmly before turning to their escort, “Officer Webb? That will be all thank you.”

The woman nodded curtly but sent the boys a calculating look before she left, shutting the door firmly behind her. It seemed that everyone here was suspicious of them.

“Please,” Claydon gestured to the leather chairs in front of the desk, “Sit down.”

“Thank you, sir,” They replied almost as one, gingerly taking a pew on the leather chairs, their backs ramrod straight. Claydon sat down as well.

“Firstly, I must thank you for taking on such an endeavour, entering any training with the Coastguard is no light feat. I’m sure you understand why Caswell and myself deemed it necessary; the less people who know about this the better.”

The boys nodded primly and Claydon expression softened into a kindly acknowledgement, almost fatherly in recognition, “Also, I must congratulate you both on passing the Rescue Swimmer Course with flying colours. I made sure Lauder kept me fully informed of your progress. It takes a special kind of someone to make it through the swimmer program and even many trained athletes cannot make it despite their talents. So to have two, shall we say, almost complete novices not only pass but do so with such distinction is truly a remarkably occurrence. Reilly, you are to be commended on your outstanding achievements, and you too Clarke, Chief Lauder was most impressed with your co-ordination skills and theory knowledge.”

Dean felt a flush of pride for his brother, who, apart from his excellent theory test score at the academy, had never received much praise for his efforts. Sam, as Dean anticipated, was blushing furiously and sinking a little lower in his seat.

“You are of course here for a reason but I hope that when this mission is over you will really consider continuing to serve with us. If not here, then perhaps North Carolina, Chief Lauder seems pretty keen to have you back in Elizabeth City. I dare say he’s got a soft spot for the both of you.”

Neither of the boys could stop a small pleased smile, it was nice to hear that Lauder’s high opinion was genuine and seeing their surprised expressions Claydon’s eyes softened even more. For a man who usually kept his personal feelings locked behind a cool professional façade he was already starting to fall for the boys in front of him. He had met many officers in his time and had gathered enough experience to make a good judge of character on a first impression. His first impressions of these boys were of honourable young men who would gladly put their lives in danger to save a stranger. Their faces were young and eager; they seemed to impart an unquenchable thirst to prove themselves and yet their eyes bore so much dark experience that he believed they’d already proved themselves a lifetimes worth and over. Yes, he liked these two; he liked these two a lot. “And I must say,” He said gravely, “for Lauder to have that sort of opinion then you must be pretty exceptional. I look forward to having you both on my team.”

“Thank you sir,” they said, both shifting uncomfortably at the praise.

“Right,” Claydon clapped his hands together, not wanting to make them anymore ill at ease, “To business. I daresay Admiral Caswell gave you a pretty good explanation but maybe it would be better to hear it fresh from someone closer to the centre?” Claydon stood up, his question almost rhetorical, certainly not something that the boys were expected to answer; “I have worked as commander of this station for nearly six years. Before that I was Executive Officer for four years and before that I was one of the four Air Ops Officers based in the tower. I have served this base for nigh on twenty-two years and have bared witness to thousands of missions. As part of my job I have to regularly meet with my superiors to discuss mission reports and analyse for trends so that we can adapt our strategic plans to suit the current conditions. Over the years I have read accounts from survivors that could dent a man’s soul, make a priest question his beliefs and scare even the most seasoned of sailors into permanent land-locking. On the other hand, I have also read accounts which have made me laugh and equally ones that make me scoff with derision. The things people testify to after a terrifying ordeal would boggle even the most open psychologist. Normally it’s the shock and hypothermia talking but… even I have to admit that some of the accounts are too similar to be merely coincidence. Unfortunately these accounts tend to be the ones that make me laugh or scoff with derision.

I am a god fearing man, boys; I go to church every Sunday, I thank the lord at every meal but that doesn’t mean I’m not sceptical about certain concepts. I don’t believe in aliens, I don’t believe in magic and I don’t… didn’t believe in ghosts. One does not have to be devoted to God and yet have to believe in those sorts of things. I believe the bible was not meant to be taken literally but simply as a metaphor for morals and ethics. So when I read that someone thinks they saw a ghost on their ship, I don’t feel much guilt in being rather cynical. However, when ten, fifteen, twenty people, all unconnected and at different times, claim the same thing, it makes me start to wonder whether there is some truth in their words. Our last one,” Claydon opened a drawer and pulled out a file. He unclasped it and dropped the top piece of paper, with almost loathing, onto the desk. “Friday, 1st December last year, 11.33pm, call comes in that a small fishing vessel is caught in the storm and is rapidly taking on water. We send out our rescue team but when they get there… it’s too late.”

“Well… that’s terrible news… sir…” Sam said slowly, turning the paper towards him to read better, “but… I don’t see how a boat sinking in a storm is out of the ordinary?”

“There wasn’t a storm,” Claydon replied flatly.

“But,” started Dean, leaning forward to scan the report too, a little confused, “You just said-”

Claydon cut him off, “There wasn’t a storm. The vessel was only twelve miles off land. It was a cold but completely cloudless night. I hear it was the best night of the whole year for stargazing, according to the local Astronomy club. It was so clear that I could see Saturn rising with the moon on the horizon of the ocean. The rescue team reported the calmest of conditions all the way. When they got there, the sea was peaceful, the sky was as clear as glass but the vessel was gone. All that remained was a few floating bits of debris and the bodies of three crew.” He opened the file again and dropped another stabled sheet onto the desk, “July 10th, last year, 8.56pm a small yacht carrying five people, one an eight year old child, sank two miles out of Tillamook Bay. No survivors and no witnesses – even so close to land. Again, a distress call to say they were stuck in a storm, engine had cut out and the waves were swamping the pumps. It was the hottest day of the year – not a cloud in the sky, barely even a breeze!” He dropped the next bit of paper from the file, “May 22nd, last year, four man fishing vessel three miles off shore, 5.30 in the morning call came in their engine had failed and they were lost in the fog. Sky was partially cloudy – but it wasn’t heavy rain clouds, in fact the meteorology department didn’t detect any rainfall at all. There wasn’t any sign either of fog that morning, no other vessels within a three mile radius reported any. When the team got there, there was only one survivor, clinging to a crate. According to his statement, the survivor said the fog just seemed to spring up on them in a matter of minutes. Then once visibility dropped to tn metres he said there was a sound of snapping and weird creaking. Above them lightning flashed through the mist and the sea started to churn. He swore he could hear the sound of distant gunfire and then a… ghostly figure appear on the bow. It seemed to flash a couple of times, like a really old film and suddenly he was gone. That’s when the boat started to take on water.” Claydon sighed, suddenly looking utterly weary. He put down another sheet, “April 6th, last year, similar story, fishing vessel sank in fog – forecast said clear skies. Crew of two died; one survived long enough in the helicopter to give a similar account to the one in May. He died of exposure before he reached land.

January last year, similar story about a storm, two survived long enough to give oddly similar accounts of a ghostly figure appearing on the bow and the sound of gun fire. One swore he even saw a galleon.

September 2007, two holidaymakers were swept out to sea in their dinghy; they claimed to see lightning, fog, churning waters and a ghostly figure.

May 2007, six crew fishing vessel sank five miles off Tillamook Bay. One, who remained conscious long enough; told the rescue team about a storm, two ghostly galleons and a weird flickering person at the bow of their boat.

Same again in April 2007, November 2006, April 2006, December 2005, March 2005, August 2004, February 2004, November 2003, June 2003…that’s as far back as I’ve found so far. I’m sure they’ll be other instances as well. So any questions, I know I have plenty?” he laughed almost in incredulity.

“Can we get access to all the paperwork for these missions?” Sam asked, picking up the June 2003 report.

Claydon nodded, “Everything is being boxed over to a private room next door in the Education wing. Some of the paperwork is coming from our group of lifeboat stations and I’ve got Alaska and Washington pouring through their records too so it’ll take a few weeks for everything to come in. We had to be sure that you um… passed before going forth and arranging things. However, we will do all that is possible to help you, so far we’ve got unrestricted usage of the public libraries – which, if need be, you can use after hours. We have located the addresses of the two sole survivors and have secured their permission for you to interview them.

Obviously we won’t know for sure which future emergency calls will be connected to this case, although we do know what to look for now. What we propose is to have you working normal shifts and if a call comes through when you’re not on shift, that seems suspect, we shall page you in. I’m aware that you’re living in civilian housing but it is within ten minutes drive of the base. That’s doable. All we ask is that you’re ready to be called in. During your shifts we shall keep you both together as much as we can but I do ask that you be prepared to split up and cover for others if needed.”

“Of course sir, it’s the least we can do,” Sam agreed.

“Now, I’m also aware that Caswell told you we will pay you for up to five years to complete the mission. The fact is, people’s lives are in danger and these incidents are happening months between each other with seemingly no connection. Therefore we expect it to take you some time to find a solution; we just hope that we can prevent people from getting hurt in the meanwhile.

We will have no problem in letting you continue after those five years providing you have adequate evidence that you’re progressing. And you are entitled to all services available to members of the USCG; as far as we see it, you’re real members anyway, you’ve done the training, you’re doing the job, it just so happens that your mission is a specific, uncommon one. I would also like to express my hope that you both consider staying on once the job is over – this applies to whether the mission is completed or not.” Claydon paused, “Now, is there anything that you think you’ll need sooner rather than later?”

“Well,” it was the first time Dean had really spoken so far, “the thing is sir; we have some special equipment that we may need to take onboard with us. It would be handy if they were kept somewhere on base because they’re not the sort of thing you want the front gate security to find.”

“When you say equipment…?”

“Some electronics, some books… some weapons – ones that are designed to deal with specific problems – they’re not your typical everyday artillery.”

“Ahh, I see… well, we do have an armoury, I’m sure we can arrange for a special lock up for your… equipment. We’ll issue a key for both of you and one will remain with me, just in case. Is that all?”

“Until we read all the information and do some research, we can’t really say what else we might need. We’ll need to know more first.”

“That’s fine,” Claydon said, “if you do come across anything don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll leave express orders with my secretarial staff that you should be given audience immediately upon request. Right,” he finally sat down, “As you’re aware; your duties begin in about two weeks. I’ve arranged some training shifts for you with Officer Sharpe before he leaves.” He handed them a slip of paper, “There are of course regular training classes which you’ll be expected to attend but Charlie Sloane, our training officer, will tell you all about that. I’ve also asked the Duty Officer, Kathleen Brown, to take you on a tour of the base this morning and to introduce you to the team.”

“Thank you sir.”

Claydon leaned back in his chair and surveyed them. It was a penetrative stare as though he was searching for something in their psyche, like he knew something and was trying to gauge if it were true. Both got the feeling it wasn’t something good, which was confirmed when Claydon sighed heavily and leant forward over the desk in a weary manner.

“As uncomfortable as it is, I also have to say this...” The boys shifted awkwardly, hearing the embarrassment in his voice. No, it definitely didn’t sound as though they were going to like what he said next. “I’m not sure what the deal is between the pair of you and quite frankly I don’t want to know. The law is, since last year, very clear that no discrimination is allowed against sexual orientation and although we endeavour to ensure that this is taken seriously, there are… some members, who are older and perhaps more set in their ways. I am not one of them but there may be some who work within this particular establishment that might.

It is therefore important that you note the same rules apply to everyone; couples are not allowed to work together in a team. Emotions and personal feelings cannot get in the way of saving someone’s life. If this affects you then I warn you, do not let anyone become aware that you are so. In addition, I must implore that you DO NOT let your… dynamics affect your work. If anyone was to become aware of a couple working together then it will cause a very public problem. I wouldn’t ask you to cease anything you may already be invested in but you would have to keep it quiet. Speculation is okay, it’s a normal expected thing, but evidence can not be allowed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

They nodded, cheeks burning brilliantly red, not able to voice any contradiction to what the Commander was asking/saying.

“Also, hypothetically speaking of course, if you were to stay on with us and it was indeed the case that you were… together… then please be aware that we would no longer let you work together. I’m sure you can understand and respect that.”

“Yes sir.” What else could they say? Sam was staring at the floor like he wanted it to open and swallow him whole. Dean was looking pretty much the same.

Claydon nodded sharply, “Right, so let’s get Officer Brown here to introduce you to the base.” He picked up the phone and spoke quickly, then replaced the receiver firmly.

“She’ll be here momentarily. Officer Brown is aware that you should be partnered together in the shift rota, she is also aware of the type of situation when you should be contacted. The only thing she is not aware of is why. I am in complete agreement with my superiors that nobody, out-with us, should know about the… obscure aspects of this case. I’m sure you understand that it is best for everyone’s peace of mind that the less who are in knowledge of what is really out there, the better.”

“Trust us sir,” Sam muttered, “we understand completely.”

Claydon bowed his head in acknowledgement, “Well, Officer Brown will show you the room we have prepared, she will also take you on a tour of the base, introduce you to your colleagues, assist you with registration, issue you the necessary documentation and set up the required checks within the medical facility. As new members I suspect you may be unsure of the protocols involved with moving to a new base. If you have any questions Officer Brown should be able to advise you. I trust her explicitly and have every confidence that you will find her a wonderful figure to work under. Just between you and me, other than Chief Lauder, I believe she is the best at watching over a team; if you have any problems, she should be your first port of call, whatever it may be. You’ll find that her bark is worse than her bite; when it comes to protocol she is a stickler but else wise she is sweet, caring and fiercely protective, that’s why most here adore her. As I said though, that’s just between you and me.”

The boys shared a polite grin with him just as there was a knock on the door.

“Enter!”

The door opened and a short woman with sleek brown hair marched in and saluted. She wore the typical uniform of a senior; navy blue slacks, short-sleeved tropical-blue shirt with ribbons in a neat row above her left breast pocket, BROWN over the right. Her brown eyes were kind but her expression was stern, the neat ponytail did make her seem more hard edged but the smattering of freckles over her little nose just took it all away. She was a pretty woman in her mid thirties; someone who you’d immediately label as being ‘maternal’ and ‘sweet’, although neither Sam nor Dean thought for one second that she was a walk-over.

They both stood up instantly and saluted; she turned and saluted back before setting them with both a curious and appreciative stare.

“Officer Brown, these are your new rescue swimmers, Samuel Clarke and Zack Reilly, boys this is your Duty Officer Kathleen Brown.”

“Pleased to be working with you M’am,” Dean said graciously, bowing his head slightly.

Kathleen’s eyebrows rose and a faint blush hinted her cheeks,

“Thank you, I’m sure I shall enjoy working with you both too.”

Claydon looked amused, “I’ve heard some good things about these boys Officer Brown, I’m sure they’ll fit in well under your watchful eye.”

“Indeed…” she looked over the boys again, with such appraising that Dean felt his whole body grow hot and his feet started shuffling on their own.

“Well boys,” Claydon addressed them, “let me once again thank you for coming, I’m looking very much forward to working with you.” Once again he shook their hands. The boys saluted and then exited behind Kathleen.

“Well boys, welcome to USCG Astoria. Firstly we’ll go to my office to fill out the usual paperwork and I need you to fill in another ‘Release from Assignment to Mandatory Housing’ form as the ones issued to you were incorrect. Not your fault – don’t worry. After that we’ll see that you get your new ID’s and then give you a tour of the base and introduce you to some of your colleagues.

Dean hated form filling at the best of times and it didn’t help that Brown’s office was the size of a cupboard. Despite being obsessively tidy it still felt cluttered, but that could be to do with the eight filing cabinets crammed around the small work desk. On top of them were five-layered paper trays, brimming with paperwork. Sam and Dean folded in their long limbs behind the desk and struggled to fill in the various forms that seemed to have endless sections. Within a few minutes Sam had cramp in both legs and his neck was getting stif