/Fist punches out of the ground/


I'm alive/mad scientist laughs in the background/

I'm soooooo sorry. Forgive me?

The sounds of someone humming the tune of 'Tomorrow' echoed in the long empty hallway. Gurneys and medical posters on either side of the walkway gave away the identity of the teaching hospital the hallway was in. A young woman walked through the third floor passage accompanied by the sound of her humming and that of her own footsteps.

She was distracted from her perusal of the medical chart she held when she heard an odd sound. Curious, she stopped, looking around her for the source. The noise came again, this time seemingly closer. It was an odd screeching sound of metal rollers, like that of one of the gurneys tucked off to the side, although none of them moved.

"Hello?" Her soft question echoed eerily in the empty place, and the fear held within her voice easily heard. Hazel eyes wide she began backing up, sensing rather than seeing anything advancing on her.

The woman's screams were quickly followed by the blare of the fire alarms and the hiss of the hospital's sprinklers going off to try to lessen the blaze. But they were too little too late.

The shining black gorgeousness that was the '69 Chevy Impala had pulled up in front of a smoldering wreck of a building. The eerie creak drew the attention of the two men who'd climbed out of the muscle car, two pairs of identical hazel-green eyes rested on the broken sign that had emitted the sound. One of its chains was broken, making it swing crookedly in the dry wind whirling around the scene.

'Jason Alec's Garage'

The words were barely recognizable beneath the smoke damage, the paint charred and curled from intense heat. The sign was the only recognizable indicator that the building it had once stood beside had ever been a mechanic's shop. Only the skeleton of the place remained, a few scorched walls still standing outlined the surprisingly large area. Standing in front of the remains of the garage, hat in hand, was a large man in a plaid coat and jeans.

Dean and 'James' exchanged a look, no words spoken but many things said in that moment. With a nod 'James' bent and reached inside of the car, pulling a pair of IDs from a small box kept in the glove box. He tossed one to his double, curling his hand around the other, and they moved in tandem towards the man staring at the building with such intensity.

"Sir?" Dean was the first to speak, stepping slightly in front of the other version of himself.

The man turned, eyes evaluating what he assumed were twin men, taking a long moment before speaking. "Yes?"

Both of the Winchesters saw instantly that the man had served at one time in the military. The way he'd tensed as they'd approached, instantly on alert, and the way he inspected them before answering all pointed towards him having prior service. It wasn't uncommon in the area they remembered, Las Cruces had an air base close by, one with a long and classified history involving weapons development and inter-service cooperation.

"I'm Robert Bonham and this is my brother and partner James, we're from the FBI arson investigation division." He paused to look meaningfully over at the building. "We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions."

Blue eyes bored into the pair, taking in every detail about them, blatantly ignoring the IDs they held out. He took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose before he finally spoke again. "Son, you can ask as many questions as you like. But whether or not I answer them still remains to be seen."

James resisted the urge to smirk, taking a liking to the older man. "Of course Sir."

The man grimaced at the title, putting out his hand to shake. "Name's Adam Cobb, retired Navy Chief, so we can drop the 'Sir.' I worked for a living."

Both Dean and James shook the man's hand, aware that he squeezed a little harder than necessary and doing the same in return. He seemed satisfied at their reaction, because he relaxed. Not completely, but slightly.

"If I may ask Mr. Cobb-"

The dark haired man interrupted him, "Adam."

"Adam," James corrected himself. "What happened here exactly?"

The man rubbed one calloused hand over his stubble roughened cheek, letting out a breath of air. "I'm not quite sure. Jay and I, we served in the same command you see, own this shop together. He's the brains of the operation and I'm more of the brawn of the place, collecting overdue bills and the like after Jay and I were done being grease-monkeys for the day." He grinned slightly. "I always did like threatening anyone not holding up their end of the bargain, while Jay for some god-awful reason loved paperwork."

He sobered instantly. "Yesterday I left him here, ordering some parts we needed, and when I came back-" Jaw clenching, he paused for a second before continuing. "I couldn't even get into the parking lot, it was so full of fire trucks and police cars. I had to fight my way through the damn rubberneckers to even find out what was going on."

"How long were you gone?" Dean asked when the man stopped speaking, lost in memory.

"That's the most fu- sorry, strange part." He turned back to the shell of a building. "I was only gone a half hour."

Robert and James Bonham: An amalgamation of John Bonham, Robert Plant and Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin.

Air base outside Las Cruces: White Sands, includes a highly restricted missile range. Uses Air Force, Navy and Army personnel. Most of their work is classified.

Okay, I hate to do this. But it's a dial-in mini-scene. I've had writer's block on this story for months. And sudden inspiration hit when I was stuck waiting at work for several hours. And now I've got to grab some Zzzs before I end up face-down on the floor from exhaustion.

So, review and get a shiny new mini-scene. :)

Oh and I have no idea why this chapter's written completely different than all the rest. That's just how it popped into my head.