Refur's output is nuts.

There was that period where she was writing a new one off almost daily. While carrying on with her existing WIPs.

I have The Envy.

But on the other hand, I also have a lot to read!

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The first Drive/SPN crossover I've seen yet: [link]

And yes, it's pretty good.

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Oh, and Refur updated the new WiP, and Spit and a Prayer, today. Yikes.

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That woman writes more *(and more really, really amazing) fic than I thought was humanly possible. Bless her for it.

There's a Reunion Fic Drabble Challenge and I am sad that no prompt includes the phrase, "Hi! You changed your hair!"

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Oh, what the heck, have some more Sam and Dean visit the Fabulous Ladies Night Club.

Oxnard was not one of the garden spots of the Golden State. Lots of sun-beaten buildings, strip malls, and motels. Sure home of evil. There were lots of signs pointing to the various military bases in the area, and Dean made a mental note to acquire something that resembled a Naval uniform. He bet he'd look pretty darn spiffy in uniform. He glanced over at Sam. Long-haired hippy kid, he wouldn't get one.

The cassette player kicked over to a song that Dean got an illicit kick from. "The devil went down to Georgia," he chanted along, "he was lookin' for a soul to steal, he was in a bind 'cause he was way behind, and he was willin' to make a deal!"

"Dean!" Sam protested. He leaned over and turned off the tape deck.

"Hey!"

"You know that song gives me the creeps."

"Does it?" Dean blinked innocently.

"Jerk. Anyway, turn right at the light, then two blocks on the left. The Fabulous Ladies Night Club."

"Heh. Here we come, Fabulous Ladies."

The sun was just below the horizon, and the last light picked out the top of the crackling neon sign that said "Fabul dies Ni b". The parking lot was half full. Dean piloted the Impala to the far side, away from the indifferently parked Hondas and SUVs. Sam got out and studied the layout. "How much heat do you want to take in?" He turned when he got no answer.

Dean stared at the car parked around the side of the concrete block building, near the employees' door. "My god."

Sam came around. "What is it? What's wrong?"

It was long and black and had fins. It might have teeth, too, behind that grill. The windows were blacked out. It was a car with secrets, probably nasty ones. Dean looked over his shoulder, suddenly feeling a little guilty at ogling another car in front of his baby. He could have sworn he caught the Impala smirking for just a second, then she was just his car again.

Sam smacked his arm. "Hey, car geek. Come on. What's the big deal?"

Dean shook his head. "Philistine. You'd drive a Subaru or a Volvo if you had the choice, wouldn't you."

"They get better mileage."

He put his hands on the Impala's hood. "Don't listen to him, baby! Sammy, there is more to a car than its gas mileage."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, already. How much gear should we pack?"

"We'll leave it out here for now, just check out the place."

Dean paused before he headed across the parking lot after Sam. He was weirdly reluctant to leave the Impala and the--he looked again--the DeSoto alone together. It looked like a scene from West Side Story waiting to happen, the chrome glinting in the glare of the street lights coming on above. He felt like he'd hear switchblades opening if he turned his back.

Sammy was at the club's door. "Dean, come on!"

He patted the Impala again. "Watch yourself," he muttered. He glared at the DeSoto, wishing he could see through that smoked windshield, then he headed over to Sammy.

Two more cars came into the parkling lot as he reached the door, a Suburban and a Toyota. He and Sam paused to watch the passengers get out. Three giggling, well-padded, middle-aged women got out of each car, huddled together for a moment, then came to the club's door. They all ogled him and Sammy as they went past.

"Ooo, they're new. Hi, sweeties, when did you get here? When do you go on?" Then they were inside.

Sam and Dean stared at each other. "Euw," Sam said. "You think those were dancers?"

"I hope not."

"So why are they coming to a strip club?"

Dean wondered if he was blushing. "Well . . . there are women who like to ogle other women."

Sam looked in the direction the women had gone in. "They didn't look like lesbians."

Dean raised both eyebrows. "You've met enough to judge?"

Sam grinned. "College, you know. You learn stuff."

Dean sneered and led the way into the club.

The lights were dim and the (continued...)

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( continues...) music was loud. A bouncer came up to them from out of the shadows, a big body-builder type with a shaven head. He stared at Dean and Sam and looked like he couldn't decide between frowning and grinning. "You boys lost?"

Dean glared at him--up at him, dammit, the bouncer was Sammy's height. "Don't think so. There a problem?"

The bouncer smirked. "Cover's five bucks."

"You take cards?"

"Nope."

"I've got it," Sammy said quickly, reaching into his pocket. "Is there a drink minimum?"

"Nope." The bouncer took the money. "Enjoy your stay at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club, gents." He snickered as he left.

A drum roll came over the speakers, and a shriek came from the audience. Dean looked around quickly. "Those are some damned high-pitched voices."

Sam suddenly started laughing. "Dean, I don't think those women we saw were lesbians."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Because--" He couldn't talk for laughing and pointed at a poster on the wall behind him. Before Dean could look, a spotlight hit the stage and the pole.

"Welcome to another night at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club," said a smarmy voice on the speaker. "Starting off tonight, one of your favorites, Bob the Cowpoke!"

As the women cheered, a grinning blond guy in a ten-gallon hat, a leather vest, shiny pants, leather chaps, and bare feet sauntered out from behind the curtain.

"Oh my fucking God," Dean gasped. The guy started shimmying across the stage, his hands tucked suggestively in the waistband of his pants. Dean shook himself. "Don't look, Sammy!" He reached up to try and cover his little brother's eyes. Sam wheezed in helpless laughter and slid down the wall to the floor.

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It was long and black and had fins. It might have teeth, too, behind that grill. The windows were blacked out. It was a car with secrets, probably nasty ones. Dean looked over his shoulder, suddenly feeling a little guilty at ogling another car in front of his baby.

And I'm laughing like a loon, here on the east coast.

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He was weirdly reluctant to leave the Impala and the--he looked again--the DeSoto alone together. It looked like a scene from West Side Story waiting to happen, the chrome glinting in the glare of the street lights coming on above. He felt like he'd hear switchblades opening if he turned his back.

Oh, LOVE!

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Dean looked over his shoulder, suddenly feeling a little guilty at ogling another car in front of his baby.

Dean, you don't look at other cars in front of your car. It's rude. And funny.

"Don't look, Sammy!" He reached up to try and cover his little brother's eyes. Sam wheezed in helpless laughter and slid down the wall to the floor.

So cute.

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Sam looked in the direction the women had gone in. "They didn't look like lesbians."

Dean raised both eyebrows. "You've met enough to judge?"

Sam grinned. "College, you know. You learn stuff."

Sam is definitely the type to have volunteered to help hang up the Feminist Rally banners for his female friends....

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