“SAMMY!”  Dean grunts, making sure his voice is deep and assertive. “RISE AND SHINE!” 

“Yeah,” Sam groans, adjusting his pillow to his comfort, “Five minutes, Dean.”

Dean gently kicks Sam on the leg, as he puts on his leather jacket,“GET UP! I found us a case.”

“Mmmmm,” Sam groans into the pillow, still heavily asleep. 

Adjusting his jacket, Dean rolls his eyes as he throws his head back. He turns around and bumps into a rock hard chest. 

“CAS WHAT THE HELL!” Dean yells, as he takes a step back, “Personal space!”

Cas remains there with his hands drooping down like a stiff Ken doll, “Sorry Dean. When I teleported myself, I didn’t realise I would teleport so close to you.”

Sam is perked up, as he still lies down and turns around to see Cas in all his glory.

“Cas,” his upper lip squishes upwards with a wrinkled nose, “Why is your hair teal?”

“You guys told me to wear a wig when I meet Special Agent Catstars.” Cas tilts his head. 

“The only thing special about her is she is a special pain in my ass” Dean murmurs, as he sets himself on his bed, separate from Sam’s.

“Cas,” Sam begins to sit up, “We meant you get a natural hair colored wig. Like a blonde wig.”

“Oh.” Cas responds, yet his voice lacks the emotion usually experienced when someone says oh. 

“Anyways, did it go well?” Dean asks, as he begins to tie the shoelaces of his boots. 

“I got a permanent solution.” Cas responds, standing in front and equally distant from each of the Winchester’s beds. 

Silence. Dean looks up and Sam eyebrows crease. 

“And…what is this superb solution?” Dean impatiently queries with a sarcastic smile. 

“We need to get her an opening as a rock goddess.” Cas responds, looking at the both of them. 

“Rock goddess?” Sam asks, as he runs his hand through his hair messier than the vines of a jungle. 

“How the hell does that solve anything?” Dean queries, with his anger increasing. 

“Well she told me in the car, ‘We just toil as a meagerly paid FBI agent when I wish to be a rock goddess.’.” Cas replies. 

“Cas,” Sam chuckles as his eyes dart down and then up, “I think she was being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” Cas once more responds. 

“Did she suspect anything?” Dean asks with his eyebrows raised. 

“I am not sure, but she makes very strange jokes just like Dean.” Cas replies as if he is the Winchesters robot. 

Sam chuckles, as Dean seems a bit taken back. He does not like how similar Jettie is to him, especially the fact they both drive a Chevy Impala 67. 

“She actually let me drive her Impala.” Cas replies, as he begins to take a seat on the hotel’s lovechair.

Dean ignores the connotation of what Cas just said, “Aren’t you supposed to be with her right now?” Dean asks, trying to move on. 

“Well,” Cass sighs, “I cannot be here for long because to her, I am currently passing a stool in a 7/11 bathroom.”

“Those bathrooms stink.” Dean grimaces. 

“Okay,” Sam responds, gently nodding his head, “In the meanwhile, Dean and I will be working on a case.”

“Good.” Cas responds, just sitting there, awkwardly staring at them. 

There is pin drop silence. 

“Okay Cas, I believe you have finished shitting.” Dean responds, unsure what to do now as he is ready to go. 

“Where is the case?” Cas ignores Dean. 

“Huntville, Alabama.” Dean smiles, proudly because he has found a case before Sam, (a little competition they were having) “A man was killed and his intestines were wrapped around his neck and he still survived.”

“It is fake.” Cas calmly responds, “It is a trap Jettie and I created.” 

“What?” Sam responds, as he stands up, stunned.

“Are Alabama and Home Sweet Alabama the same thing?” Cas cocks his head slightly, “Because she keeps calling Alabama, Home Sweet Alabama.”

 “Arent the FBI roaming around Rhode Island?” Sam blatantly ignores Cas’s question. 

Cas turns to Sam, “Yes. But Jettie believes the opposite of what the FBI believes. She believes you guys will not hide and will continue to find cases.”

“So the case is fake, and the FBI is looking if we are hiding and not hiding.” Dean responds, as his heart beat quickens. Not of fear, but sheer annoyance on what a pain in the ass Jettie is to him. 

“Yes.” Cas responds. 

“What should we do?” Sam asks Cas. 

“Not go to Huntsville, Alabama.” Cas responds to the obvious, causing Sam to be slightly annoyed, “I must go now.”

“Bye Cas.” Sam and Dean say at the same time as Cas vanishes. 

“Now what,” Sam huffs, with his famous puppy dog eyes as he turns to Dean. 

“We ain’t gonna stop.” Dean scoffs, “I found us an alternate case. But, you can sleep a bit more.”

Dean had not found another case, but he sure as hell wanted to win the competition.

JETTIE’S POV

“What the fuck is taking him so long? Is he dying his fake ass teal wig brown with his shit?” I murmur to myself, as I grab a chocolate donut from the donut stand. 

I stare at it, slightly less appetized by it as I have just thought about shit and the donut is covered by chocolate that looks like shit. My imagination is my curse. But it cannot curse my hunger away. I walk towards the cash register. 

“Hi Mr…” I read his name tag, yeah I cannot pronounce Rajeshwarishaturikitra Baladvinderaja, “Just this please.”

“Okay.” He responds with a thick indian accent as he rings up my delicious donut that is making my mouth water. 

“7.67 dollars, Madam.” He looks at me.

7.67?!?! WHO THE HELL PAYS THAT BLOODY MUCH FOR A MEAGER DONUT. 

“Yeah,” I stuff my hand into my pocket of my tight black leather jacket knowing I only have a crushed up five dollar bill, “I’m sorry, I just remembered I am on a diet.”

“I always forget too,” he laughs as he points to his beer belly. 

I smile back, as I retreat with an empty stomach. Agent Beyonce FINALLY makes his way out of the bathroom. 

Thank the holy fucks of fucks. 

“How fucking long does it take for someone to taking a fucking shit?” I walk towards him and sneer at him, “I got grey hairs due to how much time you took!”

Agent Beyonce furrows his eyebrows as he looks at my beautiful black hair, “I do not see any grey hairs.”

“Argh.” I groan, rolling my eyes. The chemicals from his teal wig must have seeped into his brain, altering it from understanding my hilarious jokes. Or he is just plain stupid. “Anyways, Budiddy, do you have any cash lingering about?”

Agent Beyonce reaches into the pockets of his trenchcoat, and pulls out a crisp one dollar bill. He smiles like a robotic puppy as he hands it towards me. 

“Keep it.” I snarl. He can afford a hideous teal colored wig but not enough money to buy a bloody third rate donut. 

We make our way into my impala. 

“You take a break and let the zombie drug from your teal wig take over,” I tell Beyonce as I walk to the driver's seat, “I shall do you the honors of driving us to the hotel.”

“Okay.” Agent Beyonce responds, with a slightly raised eyebrow, as he sits next to me. 

I start the engine of my sexy car as I make our way out of the 7/11 parking lot. Shortly after, we drive past the sign that welcomes us to Huntsville. 

“The name is quite nice.” Beyonce says as he is now on the vomit inducing map duty.

“Yes, we are hunting the Winchester. It fits.” I remark, as I turn to look at him. My hunger must be making me crazy because to me, it seems Agent Beyonce was thinking of another meaning of the name. “So, Beyonce, what's your first name?” I purse my lips in curiosity. 

“Umm..” Agent Beyonce takes a long ass moment to himself that is so long, my BBL is bigger, “Halcyon.”

“Halcyon?” I raise my eyebrows absolutely appalled at how ugly and unequivocally absurd the name is, “Like idyllic time or whatever?”

“Uhh…yes.” He responds, weirdly uncertain of his own name, as if he is a deranged man escaping from the mental asylum without any social skills. 

“Your parents have some taste in names.” I murmur, taking a turn, as I internally sigh at this fireball of knowledge. 

“What is the plan?” Halcyon Beyonce asks. I wince, I cannot believe a mother and a father thought it was a merry idea to name their fucking baby Halcyon. Does the whole family come from a mental institution or some shit? I CANNOT take that name seriously. 

“Well, I have been tracking the Winchesters response time to come to a case.” I reply, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, especially because I want to bully him, “So, I have a supposition that around the time we reach Huntsville Alabama, the Winchesters will almost be there.”

My fellow uncanny teal wagged comrade turns to me, just to intensely stare at me. 

“Okay, thunder eyes,” I nervously chuckle as his blue eyes seep into my skin, “You got something you gotta tell me, budgay?”

“What if they never come?” he queries like a zombie. 

I boisterously laugh at the stupidness that just flew out of his mouth, “I will chop off my nipples if they don’t come.”

Agent Beyonce's eyes widen a bit as he turns his head away from me. I roll my eyes, why can’t the FBI gods bless me with an agent that gets me and can take my jokes?

“What do you know about the Winchesters?” Halcyon asks me, “Outside the files.”

“Well,” I giddy smack my lips ready to erupt my barrage of information, “I bet they are one of those poor fucks who think they met God or angels or what not.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Agent Beyonce asks, I think he seems a bit piqued. 

“I believe in God. But I do not believe you can meet God until the afterlife.” I respond as I focus on the wheel, “It is like me believing ghosts and demons exist.” I chuckle at the foolish thought. 

Beyonce just remains there with a phlegmatic expression. I swear the only way to get true emotion out of agent Robot Beyonce is by sticking 20 carrots up his asshole, tickling his g spot. 

“They are cocky. They are dangerous criminals who hinder the safety of Americans and believe they can get off scott free.” I lightly rant, “You know they impersonate the FBI! Our prestigious FBI people that undergo years of training.”

Silence. I ever so patiently wait for him to say something. How the hell did he become an FBI agent, I swear he is special needs. And he probably had and currently has no friends because whoever befriends him probably needs so much patience that eating his teal wig is a more sustainable lifestyle.

“That is terrible.” Beyonce replies with a monotone after my perky boobs became a deflated balloon due to age.

“Whoever impersonates the FBI deserves to have the skin of their balls peeled off and made into lapshades.” I spew out, as I can feel the hot molten lava of my anger rising throughout my body, “Each finger nail deserves to be peeled off and stabbed into their eyeballs. I can prattle on and on.” I chuckle, “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Okay.” Beyonce responds, looking straight ahead at the road as if he is an injured sigma lion trying to be demure.

“We are here.” I drive the car to park into the parking lot. 

Agent Beyonce intensely looks at the huge sign reading, ‘Quality Inn Hotel’.

“Quality my ass.” I retort, “But you don’t get too fucked over for 53 bucks a night.”

“I thought the Bureau covers our costs.” Agent Beyonce queries as he gets out of the car.

“Well,” I pause, pondering whether I should throw in a white lie that may or may not be a white lie, “This is off the books, therefore, we have to pay.”

“Ok.” Agent Beyonce responds as we head towards the entrance, “I have to go to the bathroom first.”

AGAIN? I swear to god this uncanny fuck JUST pooped.

“Can you hold it until we check in the rooms?” I ask, with my eyebrows raised. “Did you take miralax or something?”

“Uh no,” Halcyon responds, “It is healthy to have bowel movements thrice a day.”

“Shit. Really?” I turn to look at him, but I remember my doctor telling a young constipated me to eat more veggies because I don’t poop enough, “Oh right you do.”

Before the doors can even close when we enter the check in area, Agent Beyonce rushes towards the bathroom. I roll my eyes and scoff. I sit on the welcome sofa, getting my bum nice and toasty as I wait for his ass that is probably riddled with poop rashes. 

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