Under a blood red sky

It occurred to Dean some time in the last week or so that two things were a little bit off.

One, he hadn't really gotten to talk to Jo very much. She'd been working, and he'd been researching and hunting, and given the amount of time both of those things took up for both of them, he had no idea what was going on with her.

Two, he hadn't taken Jo on a date. He wasn't sure what they were, necessarily. But it did involve them sleeping in the same bed and kissing. Even as much of a womanizer as he'd been in the past, there'd usually been a date involved. Something.

On his way back to the Phoenix, Dean saw a flier for the State Fair. He'd never been physically able to turn down an Oktoberfest. Beer Gardens. Mmmm. And big fuck off pretzels the size of your whole head. He was happy to see the information, until he remembered where they were and how badly this was gonna go.

When he got back, he had a flier for the fair in his hand. And when he opened the door and saw Jo there, he smiled and held it up.

"So," he said, "how do you feel about going on a date?"

The man with the pipe had his tent set up sort of off of the main drag, away from the noise and the rides. It was at the edge of the fair, near trees, and it was hung with white Christmas lights.

The tent had a sign that read CURIOSITIES, and nothing more. There was an arrow pointing to the tent flap, and an ornate tassel with which to pull back the flap and see inside.

Inside, the man with the pipe waited, seated in an armchair that appeared rather out of place, reading a book. There were tables inside the tent, and glass cases. Items were on the tables, sitting on displays and inside the cases, lit from beneath. A generator hummed next to the tent.

The man with the pipe waited.

It wasn't that Molly wanted to wander towards the side of town that held the gates and the site of the old yet missing mental hospital. She just kept hearing weird sounds. Once she got closer she saw more and more people headed in that direction and she had started to get worried. The more sane part of her mind said she should go get Harry, or Murphy, or Carr. Someone. Even Bill...if she knew how to find him. But there she was, continuing to follow the growing crowd towards the source of those sounds she heard.

What she found when it was obvious that she had reached her destination made her eyes widen a little and her lips part. She should go get Harry. Right now. This was...weird! Lights were everywhere. The noises were practically riotous. And the smells! Dear god the smells! All she could do was stand there and stare.

A fair. A carnival had come to York.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me."

There was a very long list of things that pissed El off. Pretty high on that list - and sadly a regular annoyance - was being woken up. She was a light sleeper by neccessity, used to grabbing catnaps. Her parent's house was one of the few places that she felt able to relax, to let herself sleep solidly. Of course, that still involved salt across the threshold and windows, a bowie knife under her pillow, and an almost obsessive re-checking of the sigils carved into doorframes and walls. Vigilance was a hunter's friend. Especially if that hunter had the history her family did.

But that done, she should have been able to relax. Should have been able to fall asleep, listening to her sister walking about next door, chatting on the phone. Her parents across the hall, quiet murmur of voices as they swapped places in the bathroom. Something kept her alert, kept her from sleeping soundly. A sixth sense, maybe. A knowledge that everything wasn't as it should be.

She didn't know what it was that actually woke her; didn't know what made her pull on pants, shove unlaced boots on her feet. Slender fingers wrapped around the Bowie knife, Ellen in two minds whether to go for a gun or her bag. It was bright; too bright for what couldn't be much later than 2am. Too bright, and as her eyes adjusted, not her room.

"What the-" Practically snarling, Ellen yanked open the drapes, only slightly reassured by the unbroken line of salt on her windowsill. She was in a motel. A sleazy motel somewhere that really wasn't Mom and Dad's place. Looking up at the ceiling, she arched an eyebrow. Great. Looked like the winged dicks weren't done fucking with her family. Either that, or she'd gotten really drunk the night before...and the lack of hangover or drymouth suggested it wasn't the latter.

Ten minutes later, and El was walking out the motel, bag slung over her shoulder. She'd been more than relieved to find all her belongings in the room, half-unpacked duffel lying at the foot of the bed. When she got out to the parking lot, however, there was one thing missing.

"...Son of a bitch." Furious now, she flung her bag to the ground, kicking the rear spoiler of the nearest car. Her goddamn car wasn't there. Looking around, she noticed something even wierder. A car she knew for a fact was nothing more than scrap sat pride of place near the front entrance, shining in the morning sunlight. Bag forgotten, she walked over, running her hand slowly across the roof of the car. She really was a thing of beauty.