Supernatural

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The Hardy Boys Check In To The Overlook Hotel

Inside, the inn's owner greets Our Dear Boys at the reception desk, and as Dean books a room "for a couple of nights," Tyler and Maggie dart from elsewhere to chase each other around The Ginormotron's legs. "Hey!" the owner calls out with a little frown of annoyance before offering Sam a "Sorry about that." Sam's all, "No big," so the owner shifts back into full gracious hostess mode, congratulating the boys on perhaps being the inn's last guests, ever. "Sounds vaguely ominous," Dean jokes. "I mean, we're closing at the end of the month," the owner explains. Then, shooting an appraising eye up and down Our Intrepid Heroes' forms, she ventures, "Let me guess: You guys are here antiquing?" Dean clearly thinks that one through for a moment before deciding to play along. "How'd you know?" he grins. "You look the type," the owner grins back with a friendly and conspiratorial wink. "So," she offers, getting back to the booking, "king-sized bed?" Dean's eyes widen a bit as Sammy splutters and stammers and splutters some more before finally choking out, "Two singles! We're just brothers!" "That's not what I've heard," Raoul archly notes. "At least," he clarifies, "not if I'm to believe what I've read in any of those thousands of pieces of gutter-trash fan fiction positively littering the Internet nowadays." Oh, Raoul! Fan fiction? Really? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. "I'll admit my curiosity got the better of me one lengthy and tiresome afternoon," Raoul allows, "but never again! Those things could inflict permanent damage upon one's brain." True, that. Now, where were we? "The 'homosexual panic' portion of this evening's festivities, I believe." Oh, yes. Talk about tiresome.

In any event, the inn's owner hastily apologizes for her incorrect assumptions and, embarrassed, drops her eyes to the guest register to complete the booking. Dean -- clearly disconcerted over the fact that his carefully constructed image was so completely misinterpreted -- goes to great lengths to maintain an affable and nonchalant smile on his face, and gulps a couple of times before too-casually wondering, "Whadja mean we looked the type?" She looks up at him, thrown by the fact that he'd press the matter rather than dropping it, and her glance involuntarily flutters from his luxuriously lashed doe eyes to his carefully gelled hair as she discovers to her immense discomfort that she's at an utter loss for words. Heh. Fortunately for both of them, Sam leaps into the awkwardness at this juncture to change the topic of conversation to anything else, and he picks up on the whole antiquing business to use it as an opening for the following: "You have a really interesting urn on the front porch -- where did you get that?" "You know, I have no idea," she replies, gratefully slipping back into gracious hostess mode. "It's been there forever." Booking complete, she rings for the bellman as she hands Dean his fake credit card and room key. "You'll be staying in Room 237," she notes. Despite Dean's supposedly obsessive familiarity with the works of Jack Nicholson, he does not, in fact, immediately reply, "Are you fucking crazy?" while flinging the key straight back into her pretty smile. Rather, he thanks her and turns to get a faceful of the elderly bellman "Sherwin" as the latter arrives to collect their bags. "Let me guess," Sherwin begins, nodding politely at the boys, "antiquers?" Wah. Wah. Waaaaaaaaaaah.

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Supernatural

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