AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was inspired by one of the Supernatural Encyclopedia of Weirdness cartoons done by kentameadowwolf over at DeviantArt.
Speaking of which, I've borrowed-with permission-some other artists' work to go with a few of my stories. It's also posted over at DeviantArt under the name LilacElf05.
STORY SUMMARY: A mission to do a bit of clean-up after a case doesn't go according to plan.
SUPERNATURAL: Messy Business
The town was quiet as the '67 Chevy Impala rumbled to a stop next to the curb.
Inside the car, Sam and Dean Winchester scanned the street for any signs of cops. Not seeing anyone about, they quickly got out of the car, heading for the trunk—each grabbing their own bag before closing the trunk lid as quietly as possible.
Dean knelt next to the locked shop door after withdrawing his lockpick set and got to work while Sam kept an eye out while holding the flashlight for his brother.
When the door opened, Dean grinned as he stood, letting Sam go in first before closing the door.
But when Sam dropped his bag on the floor, both hunters were suddenly startled by a yowling cat and each raised their guns, turning when they heard the sound of a shotgun coming from the rear of the store.
"You boys want to explain what you're doin' here this time of night?" Said a woman in her 50's. Her hair was down and she wore a faded Army sweatshirt and sweatpants along with worn out tennis shoes.
Sam had instinctively dropped his gun and put his hands up and he noticed that Dean had done likewise. "We're not robbers," he assured the woman.
"Yeah, lady, we just need to do some laundry," Dean said, wishing the woman would put the gun down.
Margret Dawson slowly lowered the shotgun as she recognized the two men who had broken into her laundromat. "You're them two feds who were asking about those murders," she said, looking a little confused.
"Yeah, that's us," Sam replied with a smile.
"Well, hell…" Margret said, putting her gun down and turning on the lights. "Go right ahead, boys."
Dean frowned in confusion, caught off guard by the way the shop owner was accomadating them. "You serious?"
"After you two saved those two girls, it's the least I can do," Margret assured him. "Go on. I'll bring you some coffee." Frowning slightly, she added, "And maybe something to eat. You boys look like it's been a while since you ate."
When Margret left, Sam looked at his brother before throwing his first load into one of the washing machines and adding soap. "Huh. That was nice of her."
"Yeah, no kidding," Dean agreed as he did the same. When he started his first load, he looked over at Sam and frowned again when he noticed the way Sam was favoring his right hand. "What's wrong with your hand?"
"Nothing," Sam replied, quickly, waving his right hand.
"Try again, Sammy," Dean said, going to his brother and taking his left hand.
Sam winced as Dean probed his wrist and thumb but it didn't feel like anything was broken. "I'm okay, Dean, really," Sam insisted. "I'll ice it when we get back to the motel and if I need to, I'll wrap it tomorrow."
Dean looked skeptical, but he just nodded. If Sam's hand wasn't better by morning, he'd just drag his brother to the local free clinic.
It took a bit longer than expected to get the coffee going, since Margret had apparently forgotten that the machine was broken. But when she went back downstairs to ask the two federal agents—although she had doubts that's what they really were—if they didn't mind tea, she found them sacked out on the lumpy couch near the rear of the floor.
Smiling and shaking her head, she went back up to her apartment, grabbing a couple blankets and heading back down, covering two younger men before making herself a cup of tea and finishing the loads of dirty laundry.
Much of the two men's clothes were covered in dirt, grime, and what looked like blood. And with exception to two rumpled suits, most of the clothes consisted of t-shirts and button-down tops and jeans.
There were also a few strange trinkets—amulets, several flasks containing both liquor and plain water—and a couple knives, guns, and loose bullets.
Margret sighed as she stayed up, watching the loads of laundry go. Her four children were gone—three of them in college, and her youngest in the Air Force. It was part of the reason she'd opened up the laundromat. Sometimes the best feeling in the world was simply putting on clean clothes. It was a comfort that these two boys didn't seem to get often.
There wasn't much left in the final load and Margret decided to empty everything out of the bags and throw them in as well. She wanted to wake the two agents so she could wash the clothes they were wearing, but both look oddly comfortable and considering how tired they had looked, she decided to let them sleep.
Sam and Dean woke the next morning to find their clothes washed, folded, and already in their bags.
Dean looked at his clothes and then at Sam who seemed equally surprised.
In Sam's bag was a note, and he smiled as he read it aloud. "'Not sure what you boys really do, but I figure I owe you one or two. Stop by the Camden Diner. Breakfast is on me. Margret Dawson."
"So what do you say, Sammy?" Dean asked, hefting his bag onto his shoulder.
"Yeah, I could eat," Sam replied, doing the same.
As the brothers left the laundromat, they didn't notice the woman watching them from the apartment above.
Margret smiled as she watched the two 'agents' drive down the street. It felt good to do a little mothering again.