A/N: A little Merisha Bird said it was Fwennie's birthday ... and something like that couldn't go without a little something, something. So, with a little poking from Mish, here is something to cheer your lovely 21st birthday, uh, 16th birthday, 10th? 90th? 24th? Well, it was some year ... I hope you like what we got you ... A little Hurt Dean, a little something else ... Warning: Do not read while drinking ... Happy Birthday Fwennie.

Bad Day at Big Pines

The road wound up a steep hill, the trees towering over them on one side, the empty scar of a clear cut on the other as Dean drove the Impala towards their destination. With a sly glance at Sam he cranked up the volume a little further on the stereo, as expected, Sam huffed and turned it back down. Dean grinned and turned it up. Sam turned it down. Dean opened a window and Sam huffed again.

Dean heard the sound of a large vehicle and looked up in time to see a logging truck approaching, the mass of it taking up almost the whole road. Muttering under his breath, he swung the Impala over onto the shoulder and waited for it to pass, noticing that Sam watched the thing go by with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Still having a good day?" Sam asked as the truck lumbered past, the driver flipping them off as he went by.

"Yep, sun's shining, no place to be, the clouds look like lambs frolicking in the Highlands of Scotland..."


"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Were you up watching BBC America again last night?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean said as he pulled the car back onto the road.


"Did you see that?"

"What?" Sam glanced where Dean was pointing.

"The diner is built in a giant pine."

"We're going to eat in a tree?" Sam asked dubiously.

"We're going to eat in a giant pine! Pines, Sammy, noble trees, towering above the Forests of North America..."

"That's it."

"What?" Dean asked.

"No more late night TV for you. At all. Period. Unless it is in black and white and has the word 'monster' in it, you absolutely can't watch it."

Dean cranked the stereo, grinning when the opening chords of "Cowboys from Hell" nearly blasted Sam out the passenger door. Ignoring his brother's attempts to turn the stereo down (he turned it back up) ejected the tape (he had twelve back-ups, just in case) Dean drove on happily until they reached the Big Pines Cafe. He pulled into a parking place and climbed out, several people were gathered by the door, talking quietly. One of them looked up as he and Sam approached.

"You might not want to go in there, son," he said to Dean.

"Why not?"

"The killings of course."

"It's a crime scene?" Dean looked eagerly for the crime scene tape.

"Nope. Been a week. We all know who done killed him."

"Yup," everyone in the group agreed.

"Killed who?"

"Old Arty, he was done in by his partner."

"So they caught the murderer?" Sam asked from beside Dean.

"Nope, he's been dead goin' on fifteen years now."

"But he killed him?" Sam persisted.

"Yup," they all agreed again.


"Stabbed him, in the restaurant. Yup, right through the heart with one of those little trees."

"What?" Dean looked through the door—there were tiny trees everywhere. "Sam, take a look."



"Those are bonsai. Are they real?" Sam said, opening the door to get a better look. Several of the men followed him in.

"E-yup, they were old man Thomas's pride and joy, those little trees."

"They're all pines," another one of the men said. "John spent hours on them."

"Yup, he left the restaurant, all the work to old Arty while he trimmed the little trees."

Dean was bending over to look closely at one of the tiny pine trees. He snorted. "Hours? On these? Why?"

"He was crazy," one of the men said.

"Crazy as they come," another said.

"Yup, they said he went a little odd after Vietnam, he was in some sorta special ops thing, came back odd."

"But he liked pines."

"Really liked pines."

"Liked them so much he spent hours talking to them, trimming them, hell, he even petted their trunks."

"What?" Dean asked, looking over at the man.

"Said it made them grow better."

"Dean?" Sam said softly.

"What?" Dean turned to his brother, recognizing the tone, something was wrong. As he did, he noticed his breath blow out in a visible puff. Oh shit. Before he could even form the thought to move he saw one of the tiny trees flying straight towards him, slamming into him and impaling him in the upper chest, he looked down as his knees buckled. Sam was behind him, catching him before he hit the floor.

"Sammy?" he asked confused.

"Oh, god, Dean!" Sam's eyes were fix with horror on the bonsai in Dean's chest. "Someone call an ambulance!"

"Sam?" Dean reached for his brother, taking comfort in the solidity there.

"Yeah?" Sam said, his frown curled tightly between his brows.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"Old Man Thomas done gone and chucked one of his trees at you," one of the men supplied.

"John could be tetchy," the other said.

"He stabbed you with a bonsai planting."

"A tree?"

"Two, actually," Sam said, frowning.

"Great, impaled by two tiny pines, just what I needed."

To Be Continued

A/N II: 'Cause is wouldn't be a good present if it wasn't a cliffie would it?