October 23rd excerpt:

Sam rolled his eyes with a resigned huff of amusement. “Dean calls everyone by a nickname,” he explained to Oscar dryly. “I still can’t get him to stop calling me short.”

“You are short!”

Sam glared at Dean. “Just you wait!” he threatened. “One day, I’m gonna be the tallest. Even taller than dad!

October 14th excerpt:

“Bobby’s around if you need anything,” Dean reminded Sam, reaching forward to briefly brush Sam’s bedhead into a bigger mess, then grinning hugely at the swears he got in return.

Standing, Dean pretended he couldn’t hear any of Sam’s sputtered cusses. “What’s that?” he asked over his shoulder, cupping an ear. “I can’t hear you!”

September 17th excerpt:

“Dude, I told you,” Dean grumbled at Sam. “Batman is way better than Superman. He doesn’t even need superpowers to fight crime!”

Sam rolled his eyes where he was draped against Dean’s neck, comfortably propped up. “No, just a few billion dollars to make up for it. Superman is using his natural strength instead of all these extra toys!”

August 28th excerpt:

“Sam, you comin’?!” Dean called.

“Just a second!”

Dean impatiently waited by the exit, tapping a boot. “If you didn’t have so much hair, this wouldn’t be such a project!” he called again.

April 27th excerpt:

It was to no one’s surprise that Sam was still hunched over his books when they returned, not only pie but an order of Chinese food in hand. Dean shook his head as he set the huge brown paper bag down on the table, covering up half of Sam’s work.

“Hey!” Sam said, startled out of his train of thought. “I was–”

“Going to take a break,” Dean interrupted, putting the pie down next to the bag. “You ain’t doing us any good if you work yourself into the ground.”

Sneak Peek

Last but not least and never forgotten, There’s No Place Like Home!

Idly stretched out along the margins of their dad’s journal, Dean slid his whetstone along his knife, admiring the silver gleam that caught the light while Sam frowned down at a passage in John Winchester’s heavy-handed scrawl.

They’d spent most of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon like that. Dean got his exercise when Sam needed to turn the page, and Sam persisted in trying to kick him out of the way instead of letting him get up on his own.

They always found their own balance.

Both of their bags were left off to the side, next to the journal. Once he was done checking over his own knife, Dean was planning on going over Sam’s just as assiduously. They needed to keep the only weapons they owned in tip-top shape. They couldn’t risk the precious knives for anything. Any other weapon their size wouldn’t come close to the craftsmanship or quality. Dean would be damned if he let Sam’s weapon fall out of repair, the best defense his little brother had against the too-big world.

“Y’know, I was thinking,” Dean said aloud, breaking their easy silence.

Sam arched his eyebrows in Dean’s direction. “Thinking? You do that?”

“Smartass.” Dean stared up at the ceiling high above. He had one leg casually kicked up on a knee, and was lying flat on his back. “But anyway, I was thinking we might want to see if we can get Jacob some more practice on the guns. He could use it.”

Sam shrugged, walking past Dean. He whapped Dean’s boot with a hand as he passed, making Dean briefly flail when his balance was lost. “We’ve got some time while we’re in town if there’s any gun ranges around. I doubt his parents or the neighbors will appreciate it if he starts taking potshots at cans in the backyard like at Bobby’s.”

Dean sat up. “We’ll just have to–”

Sam never found out what he was going to say.

The sound of footsteps trudging up the stairs made it through the walls. Dean twisted to look towards the door, only faint concern on his face. It was early for Jacob to be back, but the cadence and floor-shaking impression they could feel was nothing like how Mike and Mariana walked around the home.

Sam turned as well, but a shock ran up his back. The world almost dropped away as the door was tossed carelessly open, slamming against the wall and nearly jarring them from their feet.

The figure wasn’t as tall as the human they’d grown used to seeing over the last few months. He was thinner, too, not nearly as muscled. His head was topped with pale blond hair and his eyes were blue like ice. Aside from the arrogant demeanor of someone that clearly thought he owned whatever ground he walked on, one fact darted right through the brothers’ hearts like steel bolts.

It wasn’t Jacob.

September 6th excerpt:

“Don’t forget the sugar this time!” Sam called as Dean set up the coffee maker and got it started. He got another annoyed glance, but only moments later, the container of sugars and creamers was set down next to him.

“For you to ruin your coffee with again,” Dean muttered as he finally took a seat close to Sam, still on edge.

“It’s not like we’re sharing,” Sam said, letting Dean’s annoyed manner slide right off him. He doubted Jacob (or anyone else, really) was ready to deal with Dean in this mood, leaving Sam the only one who could handle the older hunter.

September 5th excerpt:

Dean immediately dropped down, pawing through the condiments in the kitchenette on a single-minded quest. “Is there any coffee? I haven’t had a drop since we started out, and I gotta tell ya, driving through the night is not my favorite way to spend time.”

“You do it all the time,” Sam said, faintly scolding his older brother.

Dean glanced up briefly, scowling at Sam. “You know, I could just hoard the coffee for myself,” he complained.

“Sure Dean, whatever you say.”

March 22nd excerpt:

“Really, Dean?” Sam asked, gesturing at the boots that were up on the covers.

“What are you, my mother?” Dean griped. When Sam’s bitchface didn’t relent, he rolled his eyes with a glare of his own sent Sam’s way.

Fine,” he said snippily, giving in. Jacob smirked at the back-and-forth, enjoying the normalcy to be found in the banter. He was even tempted to play devil’s advocate and point out that it wasn’t like Dean’s boots could get the old motel room covers any dirtier.

Dean pulled off the boots, one after the other, and lightly tossed them towards his duffel lying next to the dresser the television was on. “Okay, new rule. Sam doesn’t get to pick the movie,” he announced with a smirk sent in Sam’s direction.