"How do we get these people out of the house?" Sam asked frustrated as they looked over the material on the internet again.

"I don't know, what do rich fancy people need to get them out of the house? You would know that better than me." Dean said as he stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth. Sam looked up, sighed, and shook his head at his uncouth brother.

"Well, I know Jessica's parents went to a lot of fancy parties."

"Jessica's family was rich?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yeah. They had money."

"Go you little brother, snagging the rich chicks!" He laughed and slapped Sam on the shoulder.

"Grow up Dean." Sam said with an eye roll. He looked back at the computer. "I guess we could create a fake invite to some fancy party, that would get them out of the house."

"Cool." Dean said and threw the pizza he was holding back into the box, wiped his hands on his jeans, and headed out the motel room door. Sam sat there confused.

"I have to have the strangest brother in the entire world." Sam muttered and clicked a few keys, pulling up Microsoft Word to begin work on the invitation.

Dean came back through, about as quietly as a heard of elephants, and cleaned off the table their dinner was on, and put a metal box on top, and began pulling out the calligraphy pens, inks, and fine stationary.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"Making the invitation." Dean said casually and put calligraphy pen to paper.

"Oh please, Dean, give it up, don't know who you stole the pens and paper from, but you can't do…" he stopped mid sentence when he saw Dean's effortless penmanship flow across the eggshell parchment. "When in the hell….." Dean looked up from his efforts and smiled.

"Well, while you were in college…."


Winter in Minnesota should be outlawed. Simply, really and truly outlawed. Sam pealed off his wet, freezing socks and sighed. They were his last clean pair, and after trudging through the snow, they were most certainly not clean anymore. At Stanford he hadn't needed boots, and had thrown out the pair he had had from before college. He seriously needed to get Dean to stop somewhere and get him a new pair of shoes.

Clad in pajamas and no socks Sam entered the main part of the motel room. "You ready for bed?" Dean asked as he turned off the television.


"Where are your socks? The heater in this room isn't exactly stellar." He asked as he pulled his covers back on his bed.

"Out of socks. My last clean pair is soaking wet."

"Clean socks aren't exactly important. Just as long as they are warm."

"The last ten pairs of socks I've worn either have blood or monster goop on them."

"Point taken." Dean sighed and went to his own duffel and rooted around and found a pair of socks and threw them at his brother, and climbed into his own bed.



"Are these knitted socks?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Where did you find knitted socks?"


"Dean, these are hand made knitted socks."


"What, did some little old lady make them for you?"

"I never hang around long enough to get gifts. You know that."

"Then….did…you?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Do what?"

"Did you knit the socks?"

"Oh come on." Dean said, and it was a tone Sam knew all too well, it was the tone that said he was lying about something stupid.

"You knitted socks?"


"Seriously, you can knit? That is so girly."

"Shut up." Dean said and rolled onto his side.

"Dude, seriously when did you learn this skill?"

Dean sighed and turned over and glared at his brother.

"You are never borrowing another pair of socks from me as long as you live."


"Well, while you were in college…."


"For the love of God!" Sam yelled as he threw down the book.

"What?" Dean asked mouth full of toothbrush and toothpaste.



"Nothing Dean."

"You're trying to get me out of this deal, and you are yelling about God, this is something I think I want to know."

Sam leaned back against the head board, and crossed his arms and glared at the offending book.

"Some hunter apparently thought it was funny as hell to write an entire book in braille. You know, only the important stuff. Stuff that talks about Hell Hounds and how to avoid them or kill them, or whatever, who knows, I can't read it."

Dean disappeared into the bathroom and spit out the toothpaste, rinsed off his toothbrush and then came back into the room and picked it up.

"Come on Dean. It's in braille. Probably has the answer to all of this, and we don't know any blind hunters who can read braille. Why would there be blind hunters? Seriously. What idiot thought this was funny? Think that maybe a demon would sneak up on a guy and read over his shoulder." Sam stopped his grumblings and looked over at his brother and watched him, his eyes closed, fingers lightly skimming over the raised dots.

"Dean. Stop pretending."

"It says that you can shoot Hell Hounds, but they'll never lose your scent."

"You are making crap up."

"Ye of little faith." Dean said with a smile.

"You can't read brail. Don't' even pretend. Time for jokes is most certainly over."

"I'm not kidding. I can read it." Dean said with all seriousness.

"Really? When did you have time to learn that?"

"Well, college boy, while you were at college…"