Ever rewatched an episode and then had a plot bunny imbed itself in your brain and refuse to shut up until you write it all down? I have! Here's what's been consuming me for the last couple of days.

(Dialogue from the prologue is from 'The Real Ghostbusters', belonging to Eric Kripke and Nancy Weiner.)


"I gotta hand it to you guys, you really saved our asses back there, so, uh … you know, thanks …" Dean pauses, the absurdity of the situation making itself painfully obvious. "Gosh, I don't even know your names."

"Oh, well I'm Barnes, this is Damien," the taller one offers with a smile. "What's yours?"

Dean hosts a quick debate in his head, but what the hell, right? It's not like he's ever going to see these idiots again. Might as well be honest for once. And besides, knowing his luck, these two will have heard of Jimmy Page or Robert Plant or any other 70s era musician he can think up on a moment's notice.

"Dean," he says. "The real Dean."

They stare at him for a few seconds, bemused, and then the short, fat one erupts into a belly laugh that shakes his stout frame like Jell-O during an earthquake.

"Yeah, right! Me too!"

"Get the hell outta' here, Dean!" the tall one chuckles, clearly under the impression he's made some sort of clever joke.

Dean doesn't really know what to do with that so he mumbles, "Well, anyway, uh, thanks. Really," and then turns to make his way back to Sam; to the only thing that makes any freakin' sense anymore after this crazy day.

"You're wrong, you know."

Dean stops short and turns back around; intrigue winning out over the dread of what he could possibly be wrong about now.


"About Supernatural," the one called Damien continues. "No offense, but I'm not sure you get what the story's about."

"Is that so?" Dean asks. Amuse me, tubby. What is our story about, then?

"Alright, look, in real life? He sells stereo equipment and I fix copiers." He points to his friend and then himself in turn. "Our lives suck. But to be Sam and Dean … to wake up every morning and save the world? To have a brother who would die for you … well, who wouldn't want that?"

And Dean, well shit, Dean doesn't think he's ever thought about it like that; at least not in those simple terms. And that makes him mad, because their lives are anything but simple, and who is this pathetic loser to tell Dean he's wrong about his own life? However, he grudgingly admits to himself, these two did save his life, which doesn't mean much but they also saved Sam's, and that means everything. So Dean can force himself to be civil.

"Maybe you got a point. You know, you two don't make a bad team yourselves. How do you know each other, anyway?"

"Oh, well we met online. Supernatural chatroom."

Supernatural … there are Supernatural chatrooms. Dean shakes his head. Of course there are. Why wouldn't there be people from all over the world discussing how weird his life is on the internet?

"Well, it must be nice to get out of your parents' basement; make some friends," Dean grinds out through a painful smile.

"We're more than friends," the shorter one says, linking their hands together. "We're partners."

"Oh …"

The taller one leans down to rest his head on his friend's – boyfriend's shoulder and Dean has to grit his teeth to keep from laughing or gagging. These two oddballs are getting off on pretending to be him and Sam and turning into lovers, and that's just about the weirdest thing Dean's ever been confronted with. Or the funniest, he's not sure which.

Not to mention the fact that, while he does spend a good portion of his day thinking about Sam naked, all long limbs and tanned skin and hard muscle, neither of the two men in front of him are someone you'd exactly want to picture without clothes, and the image of them together is now burned into his brain. Great. He really needs to get out of here, now.

"Well … howdy, partners."