The Universe's Mixer

( And it's not at all happy. )

George never saw a check with so many zeroes on it in her life. Twenty-thousand dollars. Up front. It occurred belatedly to George that she was in a vampire's pocket now and that it might be a very dangerous place to be.

Then again, Karen couldn't have been so bad?

It was the new wardrobe that worried the reaper most. She secretly looked forward to the clothing itself, but if it required a shopping spree and trying clothes on for an audience, that was the torture George wasn't looking forward to.

Until their first meeting, George needed to figure out how to get all those pretty numbers from a useless piece of paper and onto a bank account. With her name on it. Quite a challenge for someone who was dead. What kind of place could you go to and arrange something like that. She subconsciously patted her pocket to make sure the check was still there.

"Fuck fuck fuc--"

BLAM. George turned a corner and walked squarely into someone. He was taller, and a little soft in the middle so at least it didn't hurt too badly. George took a half step back to get a closer look at him. He looked older and friendly, like someone's reassuring Dad. Maybe he would know where to go with a check almost useless to her.

"...Sorry. Uh, you look kinda like you know stuff?" (What she meant to say was old, but she didn't want to offend him so soon. Still, with the way she said stuff her meaning wasn't exactly mysterious.) "Where would someone go if they needed help with money stuff? Like not a bank but maybe accounting stuff?"

[takes place before Dean's other postings]

He had lost Sam. Some how, he had. It was the Zombies, having separated them. He was also separated from that other guy he ran into. Dean had gotten turned around, lost in the maze of the City and when he tried to find his brother, it seemed the City tried to work against him. And then there was a cure. It was broadcasting all over, a cure was found, hospitals were taking care of it, as well as the police.

Dean just had to find his brother. He started heading from hospital to hospital, searching for his brother. He carried a picture of him. Showing it to whomever he could get to look. At some, he posed as an officer, because the lady at the front desk acted like she was still a zombie. at least he swore she did or had her brains eaten out and she didn't get it back.

Dean was frustrated that by the time he got to the nearly last couple of ones, his patience was nearly as thin as a fishing wire. He walked up to one of the desks and quickly flashed a badge. "I'm looking for someone, his name is Sam Winchester."

Lucky for Dean, the woman was a cute little thing and she had perked up when he walked in. She looked at the badge but didn't see it long but she took trust in him. A guy that handsome, why would he lie? "Let me check." She turned away, going to look through the records.

"He will have dark hair, hazel green eyes, he has a tattoo on his chest, with a pentagram and rays from it." Dean informed.

"Is he in trouble?" She asked in coming back, "And yes, we had someone come in like that." She handed him the room number.

"Thanks," Dean left without getting her number even. But this was Sam, he was all business when it came to his brother. He had been all messed up inside with worry. He hadn't even eaten in a couple of days, only drank.

He made his way down the halls and they seemed to go on forever for him till he found the room. He stood at the door, looking in the tiny window that ran along the door, seeing the all too familiar form in the bed. He wasn't used to seeing Sam that way, he was the one who was usually in the bed. This was his fault. He should have kept a closer eye upon Sam. He should have ...

Dean felt his eyes prickle with tears.

After the initial shock of being dropped into a strange place, alone and without most of his traveling gear, Schmendrick had decided that the City was not, in fact, such a horrible place. He could handle this: he wasn't happy about it, mind you, but he didn't panic or get angry the way he might have, once upon a time. He had his wits, and he could form a plan. Someone was sure to know of a way home. He'd just ask around.

It had proved harder than expected. No one seemed to know where Hagsgate was, and when he'd explained that he wanted to get home, they gave him pitying looks. He wasn't the first one to have been in this situation, it seemed.

So, Schmendrick set up temporary arrangements. He'd found a key to an apartment in his pocket, and while the idea of living in a compartment half the size of Haggard's kitchen didn't really appeal, it was shelter. Schmendrick had never been one to turn up his nose at free shelter. Or food.

Food was going to be slightly harder to come by. He'd had no idea that he ought to look in the refrigerator, because he had no idea what a refrigerator was. So, instead, he'd taken to the nearest street corner to do magic for coin or food. It was humiliating, but let it not be said that Schmendrick refused to embarrass himself in the pursuit of a good meal.

At the moment, three balls were busy juggling themselves. It was a simple enchantment, but it wasn't working entirely to plan. As Schmendrick reached into his pocket for something to transfigure, one of the juggling balls whalloped him hard, against the side of his head. The other two followed suit. WHAM. WHAM. Suddenly they were busy boxing his ears, which was decidedly not what he'd intended when he'd muttered the sing-songy spell.

"OW." Schmendrick hissed, lifting his hands to protect his skull. The balls abruptly dropped, one knocking him soundly on the crown as it fell. They hit the pavement and scattered, rolling off in all directions.

It was so early in the morning that most people weren't even out, but the diner was open. Its neon sign declared that it was a twenty-four hour establishment, which is part of what attracted Raven. The other part was the heater; she'd gone to bed in a slightly warmer climate, and when she'd woken up in a strange place she'd gone out to explore dressed for the weather at home.

It had been a mistake. She should've taken a heavier jacket, but it was too late. She wasn't sure she could find her way back - nothing was familiar here - and she needed a little shelter and warmth before she tried to backtrack and retrace her steps.

She was nursing a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes that was far too large for her to eat by herself. She'd intended to box it; if she could ever get back to the place where she'd woken up, she was pretty sure she'd find a refrigerator. Two little creamers sat empty on the table, and three others had been inverted and stacked in a pyramid shape. The food sat half eaten to her side, so that she could concentrate her energy on her triumph of engineering and architecture. She was busy trying to balance a sugar packet on top, like a roof. Raven's hands shook a little, and the right was lightly bandaged, but she wore a look of intense concentration. She was going to build her creamer-and-sugar house. It would distract her from the fear and uncertainty she was feeling as a result of waking up alone in a strange place.