Dean-o and Sammy boy :3

Dammit, where the hell did they stock pie in this store? Dean is growing impatient. He hasn't gotten a good slice of pie ever since a date with a fling that shared his love for the food, and Sam definitely isn't helping with his nose buried in Daddy's Journal. What a load of bull. The store they had stopped to get gas and grab some grub at was nothing less of an old ramshackle hut, really, with potholes literally inside the store itself. A hole in the wall where a drunk driver had possibly crashed through is letting in the sun's harsh rays unhindered, warming a basket of Twinkies and melting the plastic they're wrapped in to create a rancid smell. Gross. Well, Dean knows he won't be having Twinkies for a while. Sam lifts his gaze from the journal to the direction of a sound in a far corner. "What was that?" Dean is too busy stuffing his face with some surprisingly unmelted Hershey's. "Hmph?" The sound happens again, louder this time. As if a stray animal got into storage. Dean swallows down the rest of his grub and reaches for the pistol strapped to his hip, no longer joking around. Sam has the thought to stop him; something tells him that a pistol isn't a good enough weapon in this situation. But before he can tell Dean of his gut feeling, a crash permeates the tense atmosphere and the door to a nearby storage closet is ripped clean off of its hinges.