Season 2, Episode 1: Meet The Neighbors

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Read season one from the beginning here.

A few days after his arrival at the A-frame, Bobby sat Dean down to go over his finances...

Bobby broached the subject over a few beers in the A-frame's cozy living room.  

"The house is in your name,"  he said.  "You're a homeowner, Dean."

A homeowner.  The word seemed weighted with responsibility.  Owning a home was far different, he thought, than having a home.  He and Sam had found a home of their own in the Men of Letters Bunker, but they hadn't owned the place.  Strictly speaking, they'd been squatters there, no utility bills or property taxes to pay. 

Speaking of which,  "How much is the mortgage?"

"That's just it, the place is paid off.  You own it, free and clear."  Bobby took a long swig of beer.  "From what we've been able to find out, you're rich,"  he added.  

"How rich are we talking, Bobby?   Am I a millionaire?"  Dean asked with a chuckle.  

"Try billionaire!"  Bobby looked him in the eye.  Dean could tell he was serious.  

"Can't really argue with Missouri's theory that this is your own personal heaven,"  Bobby added.  

Under any other circumstances, Dean would have scoffed at that.   Him, going to heaven?  That had never been assured, no matter what Cas or anyone else told him.  And his own, personal heaven, catering to his desires?   That had to be a joke.   But here they were, not in some gilded palace, but a worn and slightly shabby place that felt like home.  No angels to be found, just a cantankerous, quarreling group of hunters.  His family.  It really was Dean's own heaven.

"Every hunter that comes through here gets a wallet full of credit cards and cash,"  Bobby went on.  "More money than most of us have ever dreamed of,"  he said.  "And get this, the cash money replenishes, and as long as I've been here, no bills have ever arrived in the mail." 

"Good!"  Dean said.  "If this is my heaven, then I want my family taken care of."

He couldn't help but wonder, though.  Where did all the money come from?  Who set this place up?  It was a mystery Dean knew he'd have to pursue.  

The kitschy plaque over the television set caught his eye.  A squirrel, the nickname the demon, Crowley, had saddled him with.  Sam's fault, really.  Crowley had started calling Sam 'Moose'.  Naturally, it followed that Dean would be 'Squirrel', after the two cartoon stars of The Rocky And Bullwinkle Show.  

This place wouldn't truly be heaven until his brother arrived, Dean thought, but as much as he missed Sam, he hoped their reunion would be many long years from now.  He was content with waiting, knowing Sam was alive. 

A knock at the door interrupted Dean's thoughts.  

"I'll get it,"  he said, rising to his feet.

"Be careful.  Remember, we're supposed to be normal,"  Bobby cautioned.  

Dean looked at him, mildly annoyed by Bobby's implication that he didn't know how to act normal.  

"I know how to answer a door, Bobby."  

"Just don't answer it like a hunter,"  Bobby lectured.  "Act like a civilian."

"Coming,"  Dean yelled as whoever it was knocked again.  He opened the door to a young woman.   Very young, Dean noted:  late teens, early twenties at most.  

"Hello.  Can I help you?"

"My dad said I should bring you this chicken,"  she said, offering a foil-wrapped platter.  "Sorry for your loss."  

Dean reached to take the platter from the girl's hands.  

"Thank you, um..."  he fumbled.  Bobby had explained about telling one of the neighbors there'd been a death in the family, but Dean hadn't attached a name to the story.

"Mari Ramirez,"  she said, picking up on his hint.  

"My dad, Mike, and my sister, Gabi, and I live across the street."  Before Dean could say anything else, she waved and took off.  

"See you around."  

Awesome, Dean thought.  No awkward small talk.  The platter was warm and a delicious aroma wafted up from under the foil.  

"Hey, Bobby!   We got chicken!"

Dean had barely had time to polish off a drumstick before there was another knock.  

"Hello, er, ma'am,"  he said, momentarily taken aback by the obviously Muslim woman standing on the doorstep holding a covered dish.  Formal seemed the way to go as far as a greeting.

"Hello!  I'm your next-door neighbor, Fyzah Hoque.   My husband and I wanted to express our condolences for your loss."

"Thank you.  I'm Dean,"  he said, taking the dish.  

"I made a carrot pudding.  It is a dish from my homeland,"  she explained.   

Dean noted her English was perfect, though she spoke with a foreign accent.  

"It's nice to meet you, Dean.  Please give my condolences to Ellen and Bobby."  

"I will, thanks, Mrs. Hoque,"  Dean said.  

With a smile, she was on her way.

Carrot pudding.  Sounded weird, but smelled great.  Being dead was awesome so far, Dean thought as he carried the dish to the kitchen to sample it.  

"Bobby!  We got pudding!"

Another knock came soon after.  

"Can I help you?" Dean greeted yet another neighbor woman.  This one was older, mid to late fifties he'd guess if he had to, though her make-up made it hard to tell for sure. 

"I heard somebody died,"  she said.  

Dean had to suppress a chuckle at her brusqueness.  

"Anyway, I brought this casserole,"  she went on.  "You must be Dean."

"Word travels fast around here,"  Dean  quipped.  

"Yeah, it does,"  the as-yet-unnamed neighbor muttered.  "Bunch of goddamn gossips."

"You gonna take this, or what?"  she demanded.

Dean blinked.  He reached for the dish.  "Oh, um, sorry."

"Whatever,"  she said, dismissive.  

Dean watched her walk away.

"Hey, Bobby, we got--"  he started to yell, then stopped and contemplated the dish in his hands.  What was this stuff?  Peeling back the foil, he examined it.  

"Uh, green beans in gray goo?"  Dean concluded doubtfully.

"Smells okay,"  he continued his commentary, leaning in close to inhale.  

From the living room, Bobby yelled back.  "It's a green bean casserole.   Put it in the fridge, somebody'll eat it."

By now, it was no surprise when yet another knock sounded at the door.  

"Hello--Oh, you're coming right inside,"  Dean couldn't help but narrate as the woman stepped over the threshold and stood close--very close--to him.  

"Well, hello there!  You must be Dean,"  she purred.  "I'm Morgan, your next-door neighbor."  

"I'm so sorry for your loss,"  Morgan said, her voice warm and sincere.  "I baked some brownies.  They're my special recipe,"  she added, batting her eyelashes as she emphasized the 'special'.

Dean smiled broadly as he reached for the plate.  This time, he didn't have to worry about acting normal.  Flirting was totally normal, and as natural as breathing.  

"Oh... Special recipe, you say?"

Bobby appeared, shoving Dean out of the way in his haste to get at the brownies.  Jeez, Dean thought, mildly affronted.  He hadn't realized Bobby could still move that fast.  

"I got this one, Dean.  Hello Morgan,"  Bobby cooed.  

"Please accept my sympathies for your loss, Bobby!"  

Morgan turned her big, brown eyes on Bobby, her voice filled with sympathy.  

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  

"I'm feelin' comforted already by these brownies,"  Bobby took the plate and hustled off.  

They did look awesome, Dean thought.  Smelled great, too.

His attention was quickly drawn back to Morgan as she took his hand in hers.  

"Dean Winchester.  Your parents must be happy to have you home."

"Will this be a short visit?"  

"No, I'm home to stay,"  Dean told her.  He felt a little thrill of emotion, saying it.  Home.  He'd longed for it all his life.  

"Ooh... Let me be the first to say welcome to the neighborhood, Dean."  

"Thank you, Morgan."  She was coming on strong, but Dean didn't mind.  It had been a long time since he'd flirted with a beautiful woman.  

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you,"  Morgan concluded.  

And there was that eyelash flutter again, Dean noted.  He grinned at her.

"Drop by any time, Dean!  I'm right next door!"

Dean shut the door and leaned up against it for a few seconds, collecting his wits.  It had definitely been too long, he thought.  "Bobby!"  Dean yelled,  "We got a Desperate Housewives situation here!"

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