BOWIE WINCHESTERFELT LIKE A MILLION BUCKS in his suit and tie as he stepped into the warehouse behind his brothers and tried his best not to trip on his oversized work shoes.
Dean continued to smooth down his tie in hopes no one would stare at it, practically sweating and nodding when people passed so they didn't comment.
Sam, however, purposely and loudly named all the breeds of cat on his tie.
Quickly the brothers pulled out their forged Homeland Security badges, the three flashing the man behind the counter matching smiles before moving the badge away before the man could second guess it.
"Nice tie, grandpa." The man from behind the desk says monotonously.
Dean's face slacks, "Thanks." He said through his teeth, shoving his badge into his pocket.
Bowie shifts a snicker from behind him.
"Shut up, you look like a disco ball." Dean grumbled.
What was left of the wreckage had been mostly just cargos, seats, and the head of the plane itself. Bowie had instantly shuffled towards the crushed emergency door, placing a hand against it with a small frown.
The discomfort he felt when touching the handle of the door made him pull back from it, like the creature that touched it still lingered as he rubbed a colored residue against his fingertips.
Sulfur.
"What is that?" Sam questioned, glancing over Dean's shoulder as he pulled out what looked like an old walkman.
"It's an E.M.F meter," Dean replies. "It reads electromagnetic frequencies."
Sam deadpans, "Yeah, I know what an E.M.F meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?"
Dean grinned proudly, "'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade!"
"Yeah, I can see that." He says.
Bowie pops his head between them, glaring down at the device, "That's literally mine━"
"No, it's not!"
Bowie flipped over the walkman, pointing at the faded initials BJW in the corner. Dean pulled it back before anyone could say anything, holding it to his chest.
