Tag: duffel bag

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July 22nd excerpt:

Dean let out a breath and slid his duffel bag from his shoulder, lightly dropping it in the corner. “Now what?”

Jacob glanced to the duffel and the loud clatter it made as it settled on the floor before looking up at Dean. From his position held up in the air, he had a good vantage point of a room in a motel that should be more familiar. Jacob hadn’t had time to memorize his surroundings there before he was hit by the shrinking. After that, he hadn’t come back.

Until now. In one of the weirdest missions he’d ever heard of. “How would I know what to do?” he asked, exasperated.

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April 23rd excerpt:

With a wince, Sam scooted his boot close to his duffel bag. “Please nothing jump out, please nothing jump out…” he said under his breath, pulling his gun out and holding it clasped between his hands, ready to shoot if something did leap out, and hoping it wasn’t something stupid like a spider.

Pushing his boot under the edge of the duffel bag, Sam flipped it away to reveal what was hiding in the corner.

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April 1st excerpt:

Jacob rolled his shoulders and stood at the edge of the shadow under the dresser. The duffel bag hadn’t even been closed. If this wasn’t his perfect opportunity for an easy raid, he’d never get one.

Just a quick look. Then I’ll go.

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October 6th excerpt:

By the time the Impala came into sight between the trees ahead, the sun was warm overhead. Jacob had almost gotten used to the tiny weight on his shoulder, barely noticeable unless he paid attention. Sam was a much quieter passenger than Bowman. Even Rischa, when she landed on him, had more questions.

He paused several paces away from the huge, shining black car and ignored the faint clatter of weapons in the duffel bag. “Crap,” he muttered. “I’m gonna guess you don’t have a spare key hidden in your bag.”

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August 8th excerpt:

Dean side-eyed Jacob as he tucked his wallet and phone into his pants. “I don’t do girlfriends,” he said shortly, the image of his latest fling on his mind as he shoved the rest of his supplies into his duffel bag. “This job doesn’t leave room for attachments.”

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June 29th excerpt:

In annoyance, the little guy stormed out into plain sight. His leather jacket was hastily thrown on and his duffel bag hung askew, and he was glaring right at Sherlock when he came out into the light.

“You know, I’m right there, like two feet away,” Dean complained. “You’re gonna wake the dead one of these days, and the last thing we need to deal with is any vengeful spirits knocking on our doors along with all the rest of the problems going on.”

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October 10th excerpt:

“In fact,” Dean said, hitching up his leather duffel bag and starting to lead the way back to the home they shared, “I think we’ve earned a snack tonight. None of this ‘crumbs’ business. They won’t miss one cookie.”

"Biscuit,” Sam corrected by habit. He’d learned the local slang faster than Dean after their abrupt relocation to England.

“Whatever.”

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August 23rd excerpt:

Sam didn’t tell Logan any of his. He let himself smile secretively, then met the man’s eyes. “You should let yourself rest,” Sam said instead. “You’ll need your energy if you want to keep up yelling at Dean like this. It won’t get you anywhere, but if it makes you feel better, by all means. Yell. Eventually he might just stuff you in the duffel bag.”

Sam brushed the crumbs off his jacket, then gave it an annoyed glance, knowing he’d need to try and wash the blood out before going to bed.

Pulling out his grappling hook, Sam glanced over at Logan. “I wouldn’t want to be you in that bag, though,” Sam said dryly. “No way to get out, no way to even see what’s going on outside.”

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February 18th excerpt:

Dean scooped up the wires and pins into his arms and started to pack them away into his duffel. “No, I think you’re good. This is more than I asked for. I might have to start hiding the pins from Sam soon, he might throw them at me if he has to sit around much longer.”

Jacob snickered at the image of Sam tossing around pins the size of small daggers to him. They would be like slightly bulky throwing knives. “Maybe,” Jacob agreed, raising an eyebrow appraisingly at the pins as Dean stashed them away.

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January 14th excerpt:

At least he could see his duffel and his bloodied dagger sitting on the edge of the table. Those would be recoverable, if there was a way out of this no-win situation he’d found himself in. Kirk managed it, Dean reminded himself, fear summoning up memories of old science fiction, of all things.

Nothing’s impossible.