Some answers for the Denizens et al.

…which I may update if required, because the Denizens, Lurkers, Visitors and Casual Droppers-In of the Jimiverse are a pushy and demanding bunch, oh yes.

I am curious about how Sam died.

Only about twelve months before Dean, so he was just bitching out of habit. Since Sigrun, Liana and the Dusky Maiden all showed up to try to grab him away from Castiel too, we can assume he died with a weapon in his hand. It could've been a gun, a knife, a fountain pen or a dish-mop, but whatever it was, he went down fighting.

Jemmy iron? Oh, crowbar.

Sorry, Denizens, those pesky dialect differences again. Down Here, a 'crowbar' is a big long steel bar about six feet long, kind of like a giant straight jemmy bar with no split claw on the end. Maybe that's what Sam was using. Although I kind of like the dish-mop theory. Only a Winchester could turn a dish-mop into a deadly weapon.

I'm going to start a plot bunny farm where my bunnies will reproduce rapidly and I will whisper pervy, eccentric ideas into their bunny ears at night...

Le sigh. Denizens – they're depraved, but they get shit done.

was Racer the name of your lost and lamented ride?

The bike of mine that was stolen was Jezebel (an RZ250, for those of The Faith), a production racing model, although she'd been superseded by the time I had her. I also had one written off from under me, my FZ750, Thorfin Lanesplitter. I missed them both dreadfully.

Don't they know the best way to entice Dean is with PIE?

Clearly not. That's the problem with gods and deities, they think they're omniscient. Mind you, if they'd all turned up with pie, they'd probably have ended up throwing them at each other. It all did get a bit snarky, didn't it?

I am in wonder of the stuff that comes out of your brain. (Or your petri dish.)

You and me both. I blame the Denizens, and their damned plot bunny breeding farms. The stuff in the petri dish was supposed to be culture medium, but some idjit had contaminated it. And here I am, without a clipboard to whack anybody with.

But now I'm wondering "But who's going to take care of the puppies?"

Dean was found less than an hour later. A younger Hunter named Connor dropped in with some info for Dean, and also to pick his brain about a job he was headed to. He found Shannon and Lexie sitting with their Alpha, and venerable old Rumsfeld on guard at the gates. Dean was getting old, not silly – he had Arrangements in place. A middle-aged Hunter who'd lost a Hunt buddy and an arm to daevas took over at Singer Salvage (they never changed the name of the place) and oversaw the maintenance of the library and breeding of Jimi's line with meticulous care.

The puppies were ready to choose their Hunters, and left with their new Alphas within the week. Connor had recently lost his own dog to a Black Dog, and didn't think he was ready for another one, but one of the pups had different ideas. She worked her walk-through-the-fence talent for the first time, marched up to him, and glared at him as though annoyed he'd taken so long. He tried to leave her behind, but she'd made her choice, and just kept following him around, yapping insistently, and getting into his truck. He knew he was beaten, so he took her with him. He named her Joni, after his mother's first Winchester dog, and she grew into the spitting image of her namesake.

So the Living Sex God only frolics with age-appropriate partners?

Definitely, although his margins either side of his age are generous. He even offered to remove the stick from up Dr Alderton's arse once, and promised she'd enjoy it while he did. (She pulled the prune face she only ever seemed to need to use on him, and wondered why he couldn't be more like his brother, who was a much more polite patient.) Ultimately, though, Dean was a dirty old man, not a creepy one.