Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural.
A/N: This bit is so short you're all probably wondering why we didn't just tack it on to the end of last chapter. Well, the reason for that is. . . we don't actually have a good reason. Or any reason. There is no reason here, no sir. It has taken leave of us along with our senses and gone on a permanent vacation in the Himalayas where it will not return our calls.
In any case, thanks for sticking with us so far. We hope you enjoyed our unreasonable little story.
Epilogue: And Really Bad Eggs
Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it a throbbing pain. It took a great deal of effort to pry his eyes open. Outside was. . . bright. Too bright. Where the hell was he? This was not a bathroom. Hadn't he been just about to take a shower? Instead he was lying on some sort of strange wet carpet that smelled like dirt and grass.
He sat up, feeling the pain instantly. Hell, had he been in some kind of fight? What had he been drinking last night?
"Dean? Dean, are you alright?" a man's voice asked. He knew that voice from somewhere, didn't he? He looked up and frowned as he took in the sight of the man.
"What are you doing here?"
The man looked apprehensive. "Dean, don't you remember what happened? Do you remember anything?"
Dean groaned and rubbed his head. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't remember. "Nope, not a clue," he responded.
Bobby sighed heavily. Behind him there was a teenage girl and woman who looked like her mother. They seemed concerned.
A thought struck Dean with a sudden jolt. "Where's Sam?" he demanded.
"You remember Sam?" Bobby asked, surprised.
"The hell? Of course I remember Sam!" Dean said, struggling to get to his feet. Damn, what exactly had he been wrestling with? He caught sight of his brother a few feet away, sprawled across the ground and unconscious. Not far from him a fire was slowly dwindling away into a pile of smoke and ashes.
"Sammy!" Dean called, making his way over. Sam's face scrunched up and his eyes blinked open.
"God," he muttered, sitting up stiffly and taking in his surroundings, "Where the hell are we, Dean?"
"You remember Dean?" Bobby asked Sam insistently. He was sure acting funny, Dean thought.
"Yeah," Sam said slowly, staring at Bobby as if he'd lost his mind, "Of course I do – he's my brother."
"You remember that he's your brother?" Bobby was grinning now. "That's great news."
"Are you feeling okay, Bobby?" Dean asked.
"You remember me!" Bobby exclaimed, his grin growing wider. He then frowned at Dean, "I thought you said you didn't remember a thing."
"About what happened!" Dean said, "I never said I didn't remember you or Sam. Geez."
"Ah." Bobby nodded, not that this explained much to either of the brothers. "So I take it you don't remember about the witch or the demon then?"
"There was a demon?" Sam asked, eyes widening.
Bobby nodded again, and then his face suddenly hardened. "What's your father's name?" he asked sharply.
Sam and Dean stared at each other, equally puzzled by the sudden bizarre change of subject. "John Winchester," they answered simultaneously.
Bobby seemed a bit relieved, but he didn't relent. "How do you kill a werewolf?"
"Silver bullet to the heart," Dean said automatically, "What's with the pop quiz?"
"Just making sure you boys are still you boys," Bobby said, cracking a smile. "No brain damage or anything. No more than usual, anyway."
The girl broke away from her mother and approached them cautiously. "So they're better?" she asked anxiously, "They got their memories back?"
"Our memories?" Dean echoed, confused.
"We lost our memories?" Sam wondered aloud.
Bobby sighed some more. "Long story," he told them. To the girl he said, "I think they'll be just fine. You'd best go take care of your parents – and stay away from that black magic."
The girl nodded fervently, thanking them again, and hurried back to join her mother.
"Wait, she's the witch?" Sam said, looking terribly confused.
"Are we still in Springfield?" Dean asked. He'd been wanting to crack a couple of Simpson's jokes while they were there. . .
"Like I said, long story," Bobby told them, "I don't even think I know the half of it. I'll explain as much as I can once we get back to your motel."
Dean shrugged, and he and Sam lead the way round to the front of the house. Once they got there, Dean stopped dead in the front of the lawn.
"No way!" he moaned.
"What is it?" Sam asked, tensed. Bobby looked concerned.
Dean gestured at the large dent that had definitely not been on his baby last he checked. "My car!" he wailed.
All concern faded off Bobby's features, and Sam instantly relaxed. They both brushed by him without any sympathy whatsoever.
Assholes. He'd get them back someday. Or at the very least he'd get Sam. Dean smirked to himself as he climbed into the car, already planning the foundations of his next great prank against Sam.
For some reason the nickname Fruitcake sprang instantly to mind.