realmrsreynolds | On Shadow.

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spn on shadow

On Shadow.

Sallie's accustomed by this point in her career in Milliways with bringing people through to her house.

Sometimes however, she does forget to mention that her door leads to the back end of her walk-in pantry.

"Mind the rice bags, please," Sallie throws out behind her. "I haven't had a chance to put them away yet."

'Them', here, meaning 'a stack of burlap bags waist high that restricts the narrow walkway of actual living space to about half of its original width'.

Sallie's concise like that; even she has issues navigating it all.

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"I'm kinda hoping you don't have a lot of guys like that livin' around here, Sallie."

Because while it's kinda sweet the gardener didn't want his boss getting in trouble?

It's also pretty fuckin' creepy knowing some guy would cover up a murder.

Go figure.

"Neither do I."

Sallie's apron is still on the hook where it always is when she is not attempting to feed half of Jefferson District. She cranes her head through to the dining table that Sam and Dean are now occupying before putting that apron on.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Without waiting for an answer, "You're eating."

"Um, Sallie, you really don't have to--" Sam starts.

Dean elbows Sam in the gut.

Hard.

Then he hisses, "Dude, it's pie. What is your problem?"

There is no problem, at least in the kitchen. Apron now tied around Sallie's back and neck, it's routine to go around the room, gathering plates and forks and knives, putting finishing touches on things.

It's even cause for a little smile, nigh imperceptible.

At least she's working on something.

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Don't you ever think with anything but your stomach?"

"Yeah."

He gives Sam a dirty 'what the hell are you thinking' look.

"But you bitch up a storm when I talk about it."

Or when he checks his browser cache.

Some people just have no taste in porn.

Even though Sallie's kitchen has a cut-out view to the dining room, the old woman is nowhere to be seen, from the boys' perspectives from the dining room table.

She'd crouched, stuffing her hands in her apron pockets as she looked for --

Her hand brushes metal and cord, and a pendant is pulled out, resting in her palm.

They want to help

They never want to help

They'd hurt before helping

The pendant goes around Sallie's neck, eyes closed until the pendant lands with a light tap against her sternum which lands like a ton of bricks.

The old woman's eyes snap open, and wrinkles pronounce as the woman moves

-- unsmiling -- there's no smiling here, ever -- even when she fakes it it never hits the eyes --

to pick up the utensils and the heavy ceramic pie dish, with a cheery: "Coming, boys."

"If it's not too much trouble, Dean," Sam says, pointedly, "maybe we could start trying to figure out how to get that old medical bag back from Simon without either him or Kaylee figuring out what's going on."

A beat.

"Got any ideas?"

"Well, we could steal i--dude, do not even look at me like that."

Sometimes dealing with Sam is a pain in the ass.

Seriously.

"Sentimental value's out, dunno if they'd buy that Sallie left somethin' in it, and--"

Walking through to the dining room has Sallie, pie pan in one hand, serving knife in the other.

"Dessert's up." In a cheerful tone that is lacking in a matching facial expression, Sallie's silver hair muted in the light from the lamps in the corner of the room. She starts walking around the back of Sam's chair toward the head of the table, presumably to serve.

The new accessory clinks gently against the buttons of Sallie's shirt.

"Thanks, Sallie."

Sam tosses her a quick, distracted grin, but most of his attention stays on Dean.

"I dunno, man -- you could always get your new friend Ed to grab it. Simon'd probably think it was just another joke."

"Uh huh. I'll get right on that, you betcha."

Most of Dean's attention is fixed on the pie.

"Man, that pie looks really--"

Sam's lucky his legs are so long.

Means Dean doesn't have to slouch to kick him in the shin.

"--awesome. Uh. You sure are some cook."

Something ain't right here. But what the fuck is it?

"I'm a lady of many talents."

Balancing a heavy ceramic dish, laden with a berry pie, is not easy without some strength in the wrists.

An arthritic lady probably doesn't have the strength to carry that dish by the bottom, so she sticks the serving knife in the pocket of her apron, shifts the dish so as to hold it by both ends and

It's a dull CLANK, when the pie dish slams into Sam's forehead, cracking down the middle, dark red pie filling falling down the front of Sam's shirt.

"Now now, Samuel. So messy."

What the--

Sam's half-stunned, half wanting to get out of her reach the only way he can at the moment.

He reels back and then topples sideways from the chair with a solid THUD.

As he hits the floor, a darker red begins to flow from the cut on his head, mixing with the pie filling.

"Jesus Christ."

Dean's up and out of his own chair by the time Sam falls, and while he'd like to run over to his brother, make sure he's okay--

still breathing

--he's not about to have both of 'em out for the count.

"Betting Christo isn't gonna work on you, is it?"

He doesn't finish that thought before he's diving left, hand scrabbling for the salt-loaded shotgun.

It ain't like he wants to kill Sallie. Not really.

There's the smile that was lacking, before.

"Not hardly. Welcome to try, though." The serving knife gets drawn out of the pocket of her apron. "[You don't have a thing against me.]"

There's enough time to grab a shrapnel's edge of the former pie dish off the table and take a step toward Sam --

Oh, bitch, you did not.

Dean's not into pistol-whipping old people, but he'll make an exception this time.

Which is why he lunges forward, intent on sticking himself between Sam and the crazy thing that is definitely not Mrs. Reynolds.

Sam's got long legs. Her single step is all it takes to bring her within reach of them.

Reflexively, he kicks out, trying to knock her feet out from under her.

He succeeds with Sallie's lead foot, and it's with enough force to make the old woman overcompensate, leaning backward and slipping.

Awkwardly -- and altogether unnaturally -- she shifts to land on her side, stabbing the floorboards with her knife as a prop to start to stand again.

Any normal crunching sound of bone against floor another 60something would experience is conspicuously absent, for the moment.

Dean checks himself as Sallie falls, grabbing the hand that's holding the knife (or the wrist of the hand, rather), and twisting it behind her back.

Here's hoping the knife stays stuck in the floor.

"Uh-uh. None of that shit, sweetheart."

He brings some weight to bear, keeping her pinned. (If he can.)

"Sam. You okay?"

Most of his attention's on the old lady, and maybe the necklace that he's trying to keep from using to choke her.

Uh.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Is she?"

He pushes himself to a sitting position, ignoring everything else to stare at his brother and Sallie.

"What the hell just happened?"

"A little love tap is all."

Sallie's neck cranes to see Sam, and the humor -- what little there was -- disappears.

"You were in my kitchen."

"Love tap, my ass."

If Dean sounds cranky, that's only because he is.

"Something set Sallie here off into Jekyll-and-Hyde-land."

He gives Sam a quick look, brows upraised.

It basically says 'any thoughts?'

"I'll say it did."

Wincing slightly, Sam touches his forehead to test the damage, then lets his hand drop as he returns Dean's glance.

"You still got those scalpels on you?"

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