If there was one thing to be thankful for, it was that the rain that had hung overhead was awesomely disappointed when it actually started to fall. Dean appreciated that because when he'd gotten picked up by this traveling carnival, he didn't have any other option than to fall into the brute force, helper monkey role. It beat standing in a booth or working any of the stands, and when he had his downtime, it gave him time to poke around. So far, he'd gotten nothing out of this place. Whatever was running this show didn't want to be known, but Dean wasn't the type to sit on his hands or give up that easily. Something had pulled him all the way back to the 1930s. That kind of thing doesn't happen by accident.
Dean had initially been disappointed it was the 30s at first. The last time he was dragged back through time, he was pulled back to the 40s and that had been a pretty good time. This, living through the Great Depression while working a carnival? Not quite the same as hunting alongside Eliot Ness.
Once they reached Avery, Dean had hopped out of the truck he'd been in and went right to work. He had enough sense not to make a target out of himself, didn't want to call Carl's attention since, more often than not, they didn't share any pleasantries when they talked. Dean wasn't a fan of being ordered around, but that option wasn't really offered, and while he was stuck here in the 30s with no money and no ID, he was going to have to deal with being here. They took care of them well enough. He didn't live a pampered lifestyle, so this wasn't bad.
Standing up straight after being hunched for so long, Dean wiped the combination of sweat and rainwater off his forehead, taking the chance to look around. They weren't finished setting up, but they were a hell of a lot closer than they were when the rest of the convoy showed up. Then he saw a woman, blonde and attractive if he had any idea what he was talking about -and he did- looking around. He knew she wasn't here to set up; he'd landed a job that seemed to be male-only. Dean hoped in the back of his mind she was one of the acrobats.
"Lost?" Dean asked, leaning on the shovel he'd been digging latrine-ditches with. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waited for an answer.