"I can't believe we're doing this shit," Dean grumbled.

John glared at him. "Don't swear in front of your brother."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dad, I'm in high school now. Even the teachers swear."

"That doesn't mean Dean has to. Now, come on. Hands."

Dean scowled at Sam, who sent his own sneer right back, but they took each other's and their dad's hands.

"This is so gay," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Takes one to know one," Sam sniped. "And you shouldn't use homophobic slurs like that."

"Way to be hypocritical, bitch."

"You don't even know what that word means, jerk!"


Dean and Sam fell silent at John's glare. He cleared his throat, looked down at the book in front of him on the table with the planchette and paper next to it. Two candles flickered on the table between the three of them, the only light source in the room.

"Now, remember, you two don't talk." John waited until they both nodded seriously. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, he chanted the séance invocation. "There is a land where we all go, whence ne'er the frost nor cold wind blow, and friends remembered reunite, and those who hate, forget their spite, in glow surround these gentle beings, we call you now to bless our meetings, heaven's promise, our spirits thrive, so now for the living, let the dead come alive. Greetings, Alice Milliner. Speak to us."*

Dean snorted. What kind of girly-ass invocation was that? John ignored him, but Dean turned to catch Sam's eye and mouthed, 'So lame!'

Sam nodded emphatically.

Then they both jumped in their seats when a female voice, faintly staticky and rebounding like someone talking from a long way away in a strong wind, said, "I'll speak."

Sam gripped Dean's hand so tight he felt his knuckles crack, but he squeezed back and held on. John coughed and shifted in his seat.

"Uh, we're, uh- I'm John Winchester, and we want to talk to you about your husband Alfred."

"Why? He died long before I did." The old lady's voice didn't sound upset, just curious- Dean figured that was a good thing, especially since their shotguns were under the table and would take a second to grab if this went downhill. Plus, with the way they were sitting, it'd be hard to shoot the ghost without shooting each other.

"Your old house just got sold and his ghost has been coming back, hurting the folks who bought it," John said. "His body was cremated and we haven't been able to turn up anything his spirit might've stuck to, but we need to find it so we can- so we can put it to rest."

Dean sniggered. Put it to rest. Yeah, that's a delicate way of putting 'fill his ghost full of rock salt bullets and burn his treasure to nothing.'

Sam kicked his shin, hard.


"Dean," John hissed.

"Now, who's this charming young thing?" Alice's voice said, suddenly sounding much more eager.

"Uh, this is my son, Dean," John said, sounding uncomfortable. "And my younger son Sam."

"Hi, Miss Alice," Sam said cheerfully, like now that Dean had broken séance protocol they might as well make a tea party out of it.

"Well, aren't you a sweet little thing," Alice cooed, and a patch of air in front of Sam shimmered and rippled a bit like her ghost had zoomed down to look at him. Sam beamed at Dean and smugly mouthed, 'I'm SWEET.'

"And you, Dean, let's get a look at you," she said, and the shimmer in the air moved to Dean. "Aw, now, aren't you just a fine-looking young man? I bet you've broken all the hearts at school, haven't you, boy?"

Sam snickered as Dean opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. John just sighed and tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"About your husband," John began.

"Oh, he'll be attached to that portrait of himself in the town hall," Alice said dismissively. "Always was more in love with his work than with anything else. The new people in the house probably don't fit his 'perfect town' ideal. Now, you, Dean," she continued. "I'm guessing from those fine muscles-" there was a pause and Dean swore he felt a faint touch along his bicep- "you're probably the sporty type, huh? You play football?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am," Dean said. This was getting kinda awkward and Sam's big dumb grin wasn't helping anything.

"Look, Alice," John interjected, trying to get things back on track. "Thanks for the info, we don't want to keep you."

Alice ignored him. "You know, I was a cheerleader back in my day," she said with a girlish giggle. "Part of it was for the fun, but really the other girls and I just liked getting a close-up look of all the boys in their uniforms. Those tight little trousers they used to wear!"

This time, Dean felt a very definite pinch on his ass. He yelped and jumped out of his chair, stumbling back and knocking it over.

"Dean? What happened?" John barked.

"She pinched me!" Dean stared around the room frantically, wide-eyed. "The old lady pinched my ass!"

John stared back blankly. Sam cracked up and slumped over the table, howling with laughter.

"Now, now," Alice said, sounding amused. "I have to get my fun in where I can, don't I? And don't you laugh, Sammy. It'll be your turn soon enough. Look at those paws on you, I bet you'll shoot up even taller than your brother and your daddy!"

"No, he won't," Dean scoffed, edging cautiously back to his chair. "Kid doesn't eat any meat. He'll be lucky if he gets taller than a girl."

"Don't make fun of your brother, Dean," John said wearily. He let go of Sam's hand and slumped back in his seat.

"Oh, don't be too sure about that, Dean," Alice chuckled. "I'd say these shoulders here have plenty of width left to go."

Sam shuddered suddenly and twisted his shoulders, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. Dean smirked.

"She get you, too?"

"I felt her hands squeezing my shoulders!" Sam hissed.

"Alright, that's enough," John rumbled. "Sorry, Alice, but I asked you here to help us take care of Alfred, not to molest my boys."

"Agh!" Sam shrieked and jumped up, clapping his hands over his ass. Half a second later, Dean felt another pinch and did the same.

"Oh, this is just-" John cut himself off, leaned forward, and blew out the candles. Dean immediately ran to the wall and turned the lights on. "Goodbye," John said firmly, ending the séance.

They all waited in silence for a moment.

"Alice?" John tried.


They all breathed out a sigh of relief.

"That was just wrong," Sam muttered, rubbing his ass.

"Tell me about it. Ghosts aren't supposed to be horny old ladies," Dean grumbled.

"Let's just…." John apparently couldn't think of anything to say, because he stopped and shook his head. "Go to bed. You two have school in the morning, I'll go to the town hall tomorrow and take care of it. Okay?"

"Good night, Dad," Dean and Sam chorused, and headed off to the bedroom they shared. They both brushed their teeth and changed into their pajamas, and Dean playfully half wrestled-half tucked Sam into his bed and climbed into his own next to it.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.


"Can we, like, never ever talk about this one again?"

Dean remembered the feel of bony fingers on his backside and shuddered. "Definitely."

*Invocation taken from museumoftalkingboards chant