Author's Note: I wrote this story quite a long time ago, but never published it other than in my LJ. I just thought it was too silly.
After this week's Episode, Bad Day at Bad Rock, I've reevaluated my definition of "too silly" in reference to Supernatural. Ha ha!
Hope you enjoy my whimsy. :o)
Myrtle made sausage biscuits and gravy that morning, May 12, 1976. Elmer came down to eat breakfast wearing only his undershorts, scratching his belly and smacking his lips as if he weren't quite awake yet. It wasn't an unusual day at all. Elmer always had breakfast wearing nothing but his undershorts. At least, Myrtle thought, they were clean undershorts.
Neither one of them were very concerned that Great Aunt Velma had not yet made her appearance. They were fairly relieved that Great Aunt Velma hadn't made an appearance, for Elmer, at least, was convinced that Velma was the Anti-Christ. The old woman with the wild grey hair and the cat's eye glasses ruled their lives with a voice that could wake the dead. Her temper was so foul that given a choice between being locked in a room with her, or locked in a room with steak tied to every limb and a rabid Doberman - both Myrtle and Elmer would gladly take door number two. Good puppy, have some steak.
When Great Aunt Velma missed breakfast, Myrtle thought to worry about her for two seconds, before going about her daily business of sitting on the couch watching The Price is Right. She was a card carrying member of the Bob Barker fan club, and had Great Aunt Velma allowed her to have a pet, she would have obediently had it spayed or neutered or both if Bob told her to do so. Myrtle thought that if Elmer kicked off before she did, she might get her a new housedress and fly to Callieforneyeyay to see Bob in person. She knew he would immediately be attracted to her because she'd been watching his show for years and was the only person to ever guess the price of Toasted Oatie Date Cereal correct. Myrtle was an alert consumer.
While Myrtle sat on the couch engaging in lustful fantasies about Bob Barker and a hottub full of Toasted Oatie Date Cereal, Elmer put on some pants and wandered out to the back yard. Goonie and Frank had not yet arrived to work on the project Elmer had paid them to do with his hard earned Social Security Disability money. Elmer was disabled because of a freak accident involving a donut that had occurred when he worked as a janitor at the Daisy Mae School for the Exceptionally Gifted.
Goonie and Frank were installing a new septic system in Mrytle and Elmer's back yard. It was basically a large concrete box with a lid, buried in the ground and connected to the one toilet in the house by a long pipe. All the good-for-nuthins had left to do was bury the box, but they were milking Elmer's hard earned donut compensation for all it was worth.
Elmer walked over to the hole, spit a loogie, and stared at his brand spankin' new shit container. He noticed that the lid had been shoved aside. Knowing that between them Goonie and Frank had an I.Q. of about 23, Elmer thought he better put the lid back on the box or they'd fill it up with dirt too, thus rendering the system completely inoperative. If the supposedly repaired toilet backed up while Great Aunt Velma was relieving herself, someone would have to pay. It was not going to be Elmer.
He peered down into the box.
He blinked a few times and scratched his head.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Turning his eyes up to the sky, and whistling a tune in a very innocent and nonchalant manner, Elmer put the lid back on the septic tank.
When Myrtle, on her way back to the kitchen during a commercial break, happened to look out the window, she thought her husband had lost his mind.
The old boy was dancing around in the yard waving his arms over his head and hooting.
It's a good thing none of the official Social Security Disability type persons saw him, or they would have revoked his donut pay. Someone as spry as Elmer looked that morning, May 12, 1976 surely could not have donut related injuries preventing him from finding gainful employment.
Speaking of gainful employment...
Some thirty years after May 12, 1976, a cell phone rang. The cell phone was buried in a pile of dirty laundry, stuffed in a duffle bag that smelled of stale cheese and the bottle of cologne (hardly used) that had once leaked its (hardly used) contents out all over his stuff. A girl named Wanda was to blame because she just had to throw the bottle (plastic) at him when he'd made one too many wise cracks about the width of her ample bottom. As inexperienced as he'd been at the time, he hadn't realized that making wise cracks about a woman's ample bottom turned most women in to loathsome salivating monsters who chucked cologne bottles at you.
The duffle bag was stuffed under a bed, in a hotel room, somewhere near Memphis because Dean had gotten the idea that a side trip to Graceland might be interesting, particularly if contact with Elvis' ghost could be made. Unfortunately Elvis' ghost was unavailable for comment but they had picked up the ghost of one of his fans who had set up shop in his house for eternity. She took offense when they asked her to leave and chucked a bust at Sam.
It hadn't been the fun kind of bust either, but a plaster bust of Elvis and now Sam was in a pissy mood because Elvis gave him a black eye. He wouldn't help Dean locate the cell phone which was ringing from among the dirty laundry, in the duffle bag, under the bed upon which Sam sat holding a bag of ice to his eye and bitching at Dean to answer the fucking phone.
Dean felt this was unfair because he would have answered the fucking phone had he been able to find the fucking phone, and fuck Sam anyway because he could have gotten up and helped look for the fucking thing.
What Dean didn't realize was that Sam wasn't pissy because of Elvis. Sam was pissy because a toilet was keeping him up at night. Dean didn't know about the toilet because Sam didn't know how to explain to his brother that he had been dreaming about a toilet in Ohio for the past three and a half weeks. Of course he was only assuming the toilet was in Ohio because of the newspaper he saw sitting on the floor beside said toilet. The dream was doubly frustrating for Sam because he always woke up before he finished the crossword puzzle. He just couldn't think of a four letter word meaning "blockhead."
Well, besides "Dean."
He always woke up when the toilet flushed, and he woke up in a bad mood because he failed, again, to finish the crossword puzzle.
Oh, and there was also the whole "if this is a premonition what the fuck does it mean" issue.
While Sam contemplated the profound meaning of toilets, Dean found the phone. In a message very akin to "help me Obi Wan Kenobi" a young woman asked that they come and rid her grandparents' house of an evil spirit. The spirit, she said, was dangerous. It threw things and made horrible screechy noises and she was afraid for her Nana and Popo's lives!
"We're going to see Nana and Popo," Dean announced as he finished listening to the message. He started dialing, to call Diane back. It would probably be best if she knew they'd gotten her message and were coming to her rescue. Dean hoped he got to meet her and hoped she was hot in the Princess Leia in a scanty alien stripper outfit kind of way and that she was in no way related to him. Poor Luke.
Then again, Princess Leia might make a better sibling than Dork Boy even if Dean couldn't screw her in the backseat of the Impala (with a towel down to protect the upholstery of course) because of the stupid sharing of genes thing.
"Man," Sam groused. "I don't want to go there. Grandma pinches my cheeks and makes me eat spinach."
Dean gave him his best "how could four years of college make someone stupider" look. "Not our grandparents, Jim Bob." He shook the phone. "Hers. They have a ghost in their house."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"In the house."
Elvis had put the kibosh on elaborate eye rolling, but it did not stop Sam from trying. "I know that! Where, like on the map?"
Sam, sporting a frown similar in proportion to the budget and length of a Kevin Costner film, fell back on the bed with a groan.
He refused, even upon pain of torture and anchovies on the next pizza they ordered, to tell Dean why he should just tell Diane to call a plumber.
Mr. Doggy Foo Foo took an immediate and intense dislike to the Winchester brothers, Dean in particular, the moment they crossed the threshold. Myrtle found this terribly unfair because they seemed like such nice boys. The teacup poodle with the bad attitude was not a particularly good judge of character, although he had been dutifully neutered as Bob Barker instructed. Myrtle explained this politely as Mr. Foo Foo savagely attacked Dean's left ankle.
Had Sam not been there, and had Myrtle not given him cookies, Dean would have stuffed the demonic cotton ball in a blender and pushed puree. As it was he sat there gritting his teeth while Mr. Foo Foo tenderized the meat around his ankle. Its growl sounded less like a growl and more like the buzz of an electric razor and Dean wondered what kind of noise it would make if he stomped on its head.
Sam ignored the poodle, which had not yet come to savage his ankles, and thought instead about how he could interject "where's your bathroom" into Myrtle's rapid fire discourse about her neighbor Martha's lawn sprinkler. He was so boggled by her seemingly endless chatter that all he could think of was how sprinkler rhymed with tinkler and tinkler might be a good segue into the "where's your bathroom" question. He wanted to check out the toilet.
More than that, he wanted to check out the crossword puzzle. There was a pencil in his pocket. Dean had a gun. Sam had a pencil.
Myrtle inhaled a deep breath...
"Where..." Sam began, and that was all he got out before she was off again.
"AndjustlastweekMariannesaidshethoughttherewasaghostinherhouse butitturnedoutthatasquirrelhadgotteninandwasbangingaroundinher motherschinacabinetwhichishorrible becauseshehasallthatreeeeaaalllyexpensiveandfragilechina
Dean, on the receiving end of Myrtle's discourse but distracted by Mr. Foo Foo having actually drawn blood failed to pick out the warning from her nonstop verbal attack. Sam was still on the bathroom question but that didn't matter because the phone book was heading straight for his brother, not him.
Actually it was headed straight for Myrtle. It had flown up from a nearby table to circle around behind her before taking off on a collision course for the back of her head. She ducked. Dean didn't. The phone book whapped him in the forehead as it flew over the sofa.
"Beg your pardon," Myrtle exclaimed, as if she'd just burped. "That happens."
Dean blinked, relieved that they were not closer to Cleveland wherein a phone book could have done him serious damage. He turned around to see the phone book flapping away over the piano as an old man in underwear (only underwear) descended the stairs. The old man took no notice of the phone book, nor the roll of toilet paper that was rhythmically bouncing off the back of his head.
"Elmer!" Myrtle screamed. "Put your pants on, we have company." She dropped her voice back down to its normal pleasant tone. "Have another cookie, dear. You pay no mind to Elmer and his toilet paper."
It turned out that Elmer had been living with a roll of toilet paper bouncing off the back of his head for nearly thirty years. He was fairly immune. Not so the erstwhile ghost busters who had never in their (relatively short) career as ghost busters seen such a thing. Nor had they ever seen a kitchen table that launched everything on it up into the air as soon as someone sat down at it. They watched in awe as Elmer proceeded to eat breakfast. He did so with the aid of a flyswatter and a butterfly net...
All the while dressed only in a pair of clean white briefs.
At least, Sam thought, they were clean. He'd had the misfortune of encountering Dean's duffle bag just that morning as he'd lifted the trunk to put his own away. A laundry mat was in order - stat - before Dean's BVDs crawled off and mutated into something they'd have to hunt down and fill full of silver bullets.
Silver was expensive. A coin laundry was not.
Meanwhile the presence of toilet paper indicated that there was indeed a toilet somewhere in the house; a toilet with a crossword puzzle lying on the floor beside it. Sam felt a surge of hope.
"Oh dear, what time is it?" Myrtle glanced at the mantle clock and then quickly scooped up Mr. Foo Foo (much to Dean's relief) into her arms. "Time to get dressed Fooey!"
Dean leaned over to his brother. "Is that what I think it is?" he whispered as Myrtle plucked a baseball sized purple something out of an end table drawer.
"A miniature crash helmet?" Sam whispered back.
"Yes, I think sss...whoa!"
Mr. Foo Foo zipped across the room upside down. Myrtle waved at him as he sped by in another direction. A second later the dog whipped by again, this time taking a chunk of Sam's hair with him. All Sam recalled of the incident was a noise like an electric razor coming at him and then a sharp pain in his scalp. He rubbed his head. Mr. Foo Foo bounced off the ceiling. Thank goodness the little dog was wearing a crash helmet.
The crash helmet had flames on it. Dean thought that appropriate for a teacup poodle from Hell.
Myrtle resumed her rambling tale (which would cumulate, hopefully, in telling them what was going on in her own home) while Mr. Foo Foo flew around the living room and the "whap! bang!" of Elmer chasing down his bacon carried on from the kitchen.
Mr. Foo Foo and the phone book passed each other in mid air, the dog going in one direction, the phone book in another. Mr. Foo Foo was upside down and traveling backward, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
After that things got kind of chaotic and a lot went on all at once.
The phone book returned to hit Dean in the back of the head. He grabbed it as it started to go by, wrestled it down, and sat on it. This resulted in him occasionally rising up off the couch as the book tried to escape. Sam pushed him back down when this happened and the phone book was safely contained. Not so Mr. Foo Foo who latched on to Sam's hand on another one of his passes. Sam did an interesting dance while flapping his arm in an effort to reclaim his hand, and flung the dog into Elmer's butterfly net. Mr. Foo Foo was rewarded with a slice of Elmer's bacon. Sam was rewarded with applause and finger he would later claim was nearly severed by a malevolent spirit. It wasn't far from the truth.
When Dean took his hands away from the phone book to applaud his brother's dance technique, it took the opportunity to buck him off and head for the hills. (The hills being upstairs.) It never made it though because Dean then pulled out a gun and shot the fucker.
Upon the demise of the phone book, Dean declared the house haunted.
Sam made his own declaration:
"No shit, Sherlock."
It took some convincing to get Myrtle to agree that it would be better if she and Elmer did not live out the rest of their golden years in a haunted house. Sam went into his "trust me 'cause mother nature - the bitch - gave me dimples and not my brother aren't I cute" routine which was patented but could be purchased for $19.95 plus shipping - but wait there's more - he would throw in a free juicer if you called now. Have your credit cards ready.
Dean went to the car and got the EMF meter, which he really didn't need. He was using the EMF meter as an excuse to go out to the car and get something else. What he really wanted was a tube of super glue.
While Sam flashed the dimples and convinced Myrtle to "excercise" the ghost, Dean surreptitiously glued Mr. Foo Foo's ass to the ceiling. Oddly, the dog didn't seem to mind and hung there quietly like a strange sort of light fixture; a light fixture that looked like a fluffy white furball in a flaming purple crash helmet. Dean studied his handiwork for a moment and considered going back to the car for a baseball bat but decided the possibility of being haunted for the rest of his life by a decapitated teacup poodle wouldn't be worth it.
Sam explained that to get rid of the ghost they would have to figure out just who it was, and where they were buried. As he explained this his mind was still on the toilet. (Figuratively of course.) He still could not figure out the toilet connection aside from the obvious one of Elmer having a roll of Charmin continually bounce off the back of his head. It made him wonder if something wasn't making his precognative ability go wonky so that it sent him dreams of toilets as some other sort of warning. He hoped it wasn't kidney stones, and that his inability to find the proper four letter word meaning "blockhead" wasn't an indication of a brain tumor.
"Oh, we know who it is," Myrtle said brightly. "It's my Great Aunt Velma." The rather portly old woman clasped her hands to her bosom. "God rest her soul, gone these thirty years now. Poof, just like that, she was gone."
For a minute Sam and Dean thought Elmer was referring to Myrtle, but as it turned out he was referring to Great Aunt Velma. They determined this because not long after the word left his mouth he had to dodge a fork that launched itself at him at great velocity from the kitchen. Both he and Myrtle ducked and the fork embedded itself in Elvis' eye.
Sam called it justice. Dean called it a tragedy as the black velvet painting was now ruined.
("You know," Sam would tell him later. "You being an Elvis devotee is not at all cool. Elvis is for people who stay home all day watching day...time...tee...oh, never mind." )
"And I know where she's at too," Elmer said. He started for the back door, but was collared by Myrtle who apologized and explained that sometimes her elderly husband forgot that he wasn't wearing any pants. She made mention of "an old donut injury" as she led Elmer and his roll of toilet paper upstairs to put pants on.
Elmer. Elmer got the pants, and only Elmer. The roll of toilet paper did not get pants.
(Just to clarify that.)
When they were gone Sam hissed at his brother. "Where's the bathroom?"
To which Dean replied. "Why didn't you go before we left the hotel?"
Sam's need for the bathroom explained - Mr. Foo Foo being attached to his finger notwithstanding - why Sam had done such an interesting dance, but Dean found it terribly unprofessional that his brother was worrying about pissing when they had a job to do.
Sam just found Dean irritating.
A shoving match, punctuated by "shut up" and "you shut up" ensued until Elmer and his toilet paper came back downstairs.
Myrtle remained upstairs as she was looking for her dog.
Mr. Foo Foo remained stuck ass first to the ceiling with all the blood rushing into his crash helmet. Sam looked up at him as they passed underneath and thought he looked very Zen.
Elmer led them out into the back yard, to the very back of the back yard. He pointed to a square of concrete out of which poked two "handles" made out of rebar.
"She's in there," he said.
He was, of course, referring to the septic tank.
You see, on the night of May 11, 1976, Great Aunt Velma had an accident. She had been going after her nightly glass of prune juice when she snagged her fluffy pink slippered foot on a rug and fell down, bonking her head on a kitchen chair. Both hips survived the fall, but Velma's senses, and her glasses, did not. Thinking she was late for a church social, she threw open the back door and went running for the bus as fast as she could.
It wasn't very fast at all really. She was eighty three years old at the time.
Blind and disoriented, Velma missed the bus but hit a bullseye on the open lid of the septic tank, falling to her death.
God rest her soul.
Myrtle had never known that Elmer's happy dance in the backyard on May 12, 1976 was due in fact to his discovery of a scrawny old lady leg (presumably attached to a scrawny old bitch of a lady) lying at the bottom of his brand new septic tank. It was probably a good thing because Myrtle might have felt the need to drop to her knees and pray for forgiveness after every flush of the toilet. Back in the eighties when she had some issues with her bladder and had to pee several times a day, Elmer would have never gotten her up off the bathroom floor. Myrtle blamed Boy George for her urinary tract issues. She said he startled her. But that's another story, let's get back to this one.
On June 4, 2006 Sam Winchester made yet another declaration. He declared that he would take a bullet in the head before he went down into thirty years of shit digging for the body of one little old lady whose ghost had a penchant for hurling phone books and small fluffy dogs. Dean didn't give a shit (no pun intended) about Sam's declarations but he wasn't real anxious to dig through Elmer and Myrtle excrement either. That didn't stop him from silently working out a complicated math problem involving the depth of the shit contained in the septic tank and the height of the hip waders he had stashed in the trunk of his car. Nor did it stop him from tugging away the lid of the septic tank to look inside.
A noxious odor rolled out of the ground. Dean was immediately rendered blind and had Sam not grabbed the back of his brother's coat Dean would have been the next victim of the Ohio Shit Pits as he toppled in head first after Velma.
Upon his recovery the elder brother turned to Elmer with a grimace and an inquiry.
"What the fuck do you people eat?"
Elmer had no answer. He didn't quite understand the question.
The Winchesters retreated to the car to discuss the situation. Dean had grown rather fond of Myrtle (it was the cookies if the truth be told) and did not want to see her get hurt one day when she failed to duck the phone book in time. Sam wanted his toilet dream to stop. He now figured that his subconscious had been trying to tell him that Velma was in the toilet, which she was, more or less.
To save Myrtle and to stop the rogue toilet nightmare, they would have to do something about Velma's bones. Aside from lowering down a giant hand mixer and pulverizing the bones, there didn't seem to be a solution to their dilemma. Neither was willing to don a wetsuit and respirator in order to go diving for Velma in several feet of poo.
So Dean decided to blow her up instead.
Elmer and Myrtle's neighbors, as distant as they were considering the rural area in which they lived, were then treated to a shouting match between two young brothers having a disagreement about dynamite.
Specifically - the dynamite Dean had in the trunk of the car. Sam had been completely unaware of the dynamite in the trunk, despite the fact he did find Dean's stash of junk food. Dean slept through the all night Japanese movie marathon, but Sam had stayed up and watched it from start to finish, devouring the whole box of Twinkies he'd discovered hidden beneath a very large Bible and a pile of wooden stakes. He'd washed it down with a six pack of Coke and tormented Dean all the next day by belching out lyrics to Carly Simon songs. Anticipation in particular burped really well. Truth be told Dean was more appalled by Sam actually knowing the lyrics to Carly Simon songs than the actual belching of them.
In any case, Sam thought driving around with dynamite in the car was dangerous and resented the fact that his life had been at risk without his knowledge.
"What if" had little effect on Dean Winchester. He countered Sam's attack with the "yeah but it didn't" initiative while digging around for some wire and a detonator. The argument might have ended there had he not discovered the missing Twinkies.
The Twinkies were probably to blame for Dean's miscalculation regarding the potency of dynamite, the solidity of concrete, and the overall viscosity of liquid shit. He would have asked Sam to double check his math (as it were) but he was pissed off at Sam over the Twinkies and Sam had taken himself off somewhere in a sulk.
Sam had actually taken himself off into the house in search of the bathroom because even though he thought the toilet question had been resolved there was still the niggling "blockhead" issue. He also really did have to use the bathroom due to a super large coffee purchased at the last fueling stop. While Dean dropped his bomb down into the vat of crap and unrolled the wires to the detonator, Sam snooped around inside the house looking for the lavatory.
You might ask what Elmer and Myrtle were doing at this time. Well, Elmer and his bouncing roll of toilet paper had retreated to the garage after he'd gotten a good look at what Dean was lowering into his septic tank. Unbeknownst to Myrtle, Elmer had a stash of bourbon in the garage and he felt like it was time for him to have a little nip. He also had a couple of girlie magazines 'cause he might have been an octogenarian but he wasn't dead yet. In the garage he settled down in a lawn chair with his VaVaVOOM magazine, his bourbon, and the roll of toilet paper whapping him in the back of the head. He was quite comfy.
In the house Myrtle was standing underneath the very Zen Mr. Foo Foo scolding him for not coming when he was being called. Had she looked up she would have seen why he did not come when she called him. Had she known Dean put him there she might have regretted feeding the nice boy her bestest chocolate chip cookies. She did not notice the other nice boy creeping up the stairs.
To the bathroom.
To Sam's delight.
Lay the crossword puzzle.
The toilet looked just like the one in his dream, including the fuzzy blue lid cover and the padded seat. He put the lid down and sat on the fuzzy cover. With the paper braced on one knee, he whipped out his pencil, and hunched down over the puzzle with his tongue poking out one corner of his mouth. He quickly began filling in the squares with all the correct answers.
'cause he was smart like that.
Meanwhile, back on the ranch...er...out in the back yard, Dean was hooking up the wires that led from the dynamite (which had been weighted down into the shit tank with a ball peen hammer Elmer donated to the cause) to the detonator. It was the old fashioned plunger type detonators. In a fit of evil humor he had stenciled ACME on the side of it in bright red paint.
While he hooked up the wires he grumbled incessantly about people who violated other people's trust by unapologetically eating all their Twinkies and not even offering to replace the Twinkies that might have been there for some important ghost hunting type emergency. Oh, and the day would come that some person would be in caught in some life threatening situation wherein a Twinkie would be necessary and he, Dean, would not be able to save said person because he had no Twinkies available and it would serve that person right if he died for want of a yellow sponge cake with cream filling.
Said person was still stuck on a four letter word for "blockhead."
Sam chewed on the end of his pencil, thinking, and as he thought he remembered the extra large hugemongous cup of coffee he'd had that morning. "Blockhead" would have to wait until he emptied his bladder. There was a good possibility that upon emptying his bladder his brain might kick into a higher gear and produce the word he needed. Up came Sam, the fuzzy lid, and the padded seat. Down came the zipper.
Myrtle would have been very pleased with him, because when he was done he actually put the seat back down.
It might have been some strange alignment of natural phenomenon that caused it, or something - gasp – supernatural (because Velma was a bitch) but the funny thing that happened next was that the dynamite exploded before Dean pushed the plunger on the detonator.
The dynamite exploded when Sam flushed the toilet.
The concussion dislodged Mr. Foo Foo from the ceiling. He dropped with a plop into Myrtle's hands and she tumbled backward into the sofa for a nice, safe, padded landing.
Outside in the garage, Elmer's lawn chair collapsed and the roll of toilet paper that had been bouncing off his head for thirty years gave him one last big bounce before falling to the floor and rolling off under his old Buick.
Upstairs in the bathroom the explosion ripped up the pipes from the septic tank and into the toilet which, unable to take the pressure of having stuff flushed back UP it, flipped its lid. Later Sam would consider himself very lucky indeed that he was not decapitated by the blue fuzzy toilet lid that came whirling up off the fountain of brown water shooting out of the toilet with a great deal of force. Sam retreated hastily, (taking the crossword puzzle with him) and slammed the bathroom door in an attempt to contain the goo continuing to gush out of the toilet. He continued his retreat, heading downstairs when it began oozing out from under the door.
That's when he heard it. Pausing on the stairs he listened.
Sploot, sploot, splatter.
It was raining.
Sam joined Myrtle and Mr. Foo Foo at the back door. They could see Elmer sitting on the floor of the garage with a bottle in his hand and a perplexed look upon his face. The sudden silence, he would say, when the toilet paper stopped bouncing off his head, had left him momentarily stunned.
The back yard was gone.
Myrtle and Elmer now had a crater.
And it was raining shit.
An umbrella and Elmer's rubber boots were procured for the rescue. Sam waded out with umbrella in hand and nose pinched between thumb and forefinger. All sorts of horrible scenarios raced through his head, one of which involved his blown up brother falling out of the sky and whamming into him.
He needn't have worried.
Dean was still bitching about the Twinkies from where he lay sprawled across the hood of his car. He and the car were a uniform shade of brown so that it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. Both were textured with noxious lumps no one really wanted to contemplate, lumps that continued to fall all around them from out of the clear blue sky. A large glob bounced off Sam's umbrella and landed in the middle of Dean's forehead.
"Oh!" Sam tucked the umbrella under one arm and quickly pulled the newspaper and his pencil from his jacket pocket. "Dolt!"
They found Velma's bones scattered about at the bottom of the crater and set them on fire. All except her left tibia which Mr. Foo Foo buried in his doggy bed beneath his blankie. It didn't matter though because the shit explosion apparently startled all the malevolence out of her spirit and it stopped bothering Myrtle and Elmer. They moved to Florida rather quickly before their neighbors and the EPA came after them for about a bazillion health code violations. Dean created an online identity for himself and headed up an Internet campaign to blame Dave Matthews for the incident. GynSyn0301 continued to get hate mail from Dave Matthews fans for years afterward.
Immediately after what would come to be called "The Job We Never Ever Tell Dad About" Sam drove the Impala, with his brother still stuck to the hood, through a local car wash. Dean nearly drowned. The car wash operator got pissed because the crap coming off of their car (literally) clogged all the drains. He started to get in Dean's face about it until he realized that almost drowning made Dean really cranky and when Dean was really cranky he liked to shoot at people.
While Dean was alternately threatening the car wash operator and bouncing on one foot to get the water out of his right ear, Sam went through the trunk and took out the rest of the dynamite and a few hand grenades. It wasn't a premonition, but he could just see them getting rear ended and dying in a fiery explosion and he was rather fond of his corporeal body. The explosive devices had to go away, and away they went, down into the sewers. The Winchesters were long gone by the time the stuff did blow up and every man-hole cover in town went airborne.
Sam didn't tell Dean he ate the Butterfingers either.