An Englishman in Lawrence, for dizzojay
Title: An Englishman in Lawrence
Recipient: dizzojay
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2265
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: title inspired by the Sting song ‘Englishman in New York’. Big thanks to my
wonderful beta.
Summary: I combined two excellent prompts -
Arthur Ketch is staying at the bunker and treats the brothers to a genuine home-cooked full English
breakfast. Arthur Ketch might actually be Dean's favorite person in the whole wide world right now.
Even as a child, Sam knew that if something suspicious looking had a tag that read 'eat me' on it, you
probably shouldn't. Dean however, could never resist anything sweet.
“Good morning, gents.” Ketch greeted them with a smile that had all the warmth of a crocodiles.
Dean scowled at him, but then the best smell in the world hit him - bacon cooking!
“Have you cooked breakfast?” Dean asked, trying not to drool.
“I most certainly have.” Ketch replied. “And to thank you for your hospitality, I’ve cooked you a full English breakfast.”
“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “When did you go shopping?”
“I didn’t need to. You had everything here, except black pudding which I don’t believe you have in this country,” Ketch explained, with a hint of disdain.
“Blood sausages are banned here for sanitary reasons,” Sam replied.
“Nonsense, they are perfectly safe,” Ketch retorted, “and this country’s cuisine is so unhealthy, having the odd slice or two of black pudding wouldn’t make an ounce of difference.”
“Blood sausages?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, that’s what black pudding is, it’s pork blood…” Sam started to say.
“Stop there, Sammy.” Dean shuddered. “He ain’t cooked it, so I don’t care.”
“I found some Heinz baked beans in the pantry, too.” Ketch added.
Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged. Sometimes items appeared that they hadn’t bought, and they just rolled with it. The Bunker had its own magic.
Dean’s eyes widened and his stomach growled when he saw the plate of food Ketch served up for him. “Wow…bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans and…is that fried bread?”
“It most certainly is.” Ketch handed Dean a serviette. “And I’ve made a pot of tea to go with it.”
“I’m good, thanks. I’ll just have…” Sam began but Dean interrupted.
“Sam, don’t be rude; Ketch has gone to a lot of trouble here.”
“More like a lot of frying,” Sam muttered. “I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at it.”
“A good old-fashioned English breakfast may not be health food, but it’s good for your taste buds and sense of well-being,” Ketch handed Sam a serviette and sat down in front of his own plateful of food. “And in fact, bacon is good for the metabolism.”
“Okay,” Sam sighed and ate about half of the food Ketch had served him.
“You finished, Sammy?” Dean asked around a mouthful of sausage. Dean had hardly lifted his head or spoken in the last few minutes, except to moan almost pornographically and say, ‘this is awesome’ or ‘wow, this is so good’.
“Yeah, go ahead.” Sam offered his plate to Dean, who tipped it up and added the contents to his nearly empty one.
“More tea. Dean?” Ketch asked.
“Yeah, it’s weird I didn’t think I liked tea, but it kinda goes better with this than coffee.” Dean held out his cup.
“Quite,” Ketch smiled. “You sure you won’t have a cup, Sam?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Coffee’s good for me.”
Later that day, Sam left the research he was doing in the library to get some more coffee and realized he hadn’t seen Dean or Ketch in hours. He soon found them in the TV room, watching a cricket match. A tray containing a pot of tea, cups and saucers, and a plate of dainty cakes was on the table between them. Sam had no idea where it had all come from.
“Hey, guys,” Sam greeted them. “I..um...I didn’t know you were into cricket, Dean.”
“Ketch is talking me through the rules. It’s much more interesting than I thought.” Dean replied.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam frowned; he was sure Dean’s accent was sounding more like Ketch’s. Perhaps it was because he had spent the last few hours with him.
“You should join us; England are just about to beat the Aussies.” Ketch added.
“No thanks, I’m just getting myself some coffee.” Sam hesitated, feeling uneasy but unable to work out why.
“This is so much better than baseball,” Dean said to Ketch, as he lifted a cup and saucer, then delicately sipped his tea from the cup.
“Just wait until we watch rugby, you’ll realize it’s far superior to American football. All the excitement and danger without the namby pamby shoulder pads and helmets.” Ketch replied and Sam waited for Dean to protest, to tell Ketch where he could stick his namby-freaking-pamby rugby, but Dean just nodded.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Dean grinned.
Sam left them to it, more puzzled than before. Dean could barely stay in the same room as Ketch for five minutes yesterday, and now they were best buddies.
“Wait a moment, Sam. Would you be a dear and fetch us some whisky?” Ketch asked. “I would say beer, but I hate that gnat’s piss you drink.”
“There’s nothing wrong with our beer, and if you want whisky, you know where it is,” Sam retorted.
“Let’s go out and get some decent booze, shall we, Arthur?” Dean asked, adding “After the game finishes, of course,” and Sam’s mouth almost opened in shock. Dean had called Ketch by his Christian name!
“Good idea, old chap.” Ketch agreed. A befuddled Sam left them as they were discussing something called a leg-before-wicket.
Sam didn’t see them until the next morning, when he found Ketch cooking another huge fry up in the kitchen. Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste. He liked bacon, but not every day.
Dean appeared, clean-shaven, and dressed in his best suit. He looked a little pale, but only groaned slightly as he sat down at the table.
“Here you are, old chap. This is the best remedy for a hangover,” Ketch declared as he placed a plate full in front of Dean.
“I do hope you’re right; my head is pounding somewhat,” Dean said in a perfect British accent.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Sam asked, annoyed now.
“I beg your pardon?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“You, you’re talking like someone out of Downton Abbey,” Sam waved his arm, “and wearing your best suit when we’ve not got a case.”
“Dean has merely benefitted from my influence, Sam.” Ketch drawled.
“Yes, there’s nothing wrong with dressing well,” Dean said, “and I’ve grown rather tired of the lumberjack look.”
“Just stop it.” Sam grabbed a cup of coffee and stomped out of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with him?” he heard Ketch ask.
“I have no idea, Arthur. This repast looks delicious, thanks, old bean.”
Ketch went out for a ride on his bike and Sam was sure Dean wouldn’t keep up the stupid prank he was pulling. Sam found him in the library, sitting up straight in one of the armchairs, reading The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go for a ride with your new best friend.”
“Firstly, Samuel, jealousy does not suit you, and secondly, Arthur does not have a spare set of leathers.”
“Perhaps you could get a sidecar.”
“Don’t be facetious.” Dean sighed and placed his book down on a side table.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” Sam asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re referring to,”
The arrival of Castiel saved Sam from further frustration.
“Are you staying for supper, Castiel? I’ll be making toad-in-the-hole, Arthur’s favorite,”
“That sounds most unappetizing,” Castiel replied.
“It’s merely sausages in batter.” Dean explained. “We Brits don’t eat amphibians, that would be the French.”
“Dean, you’re not British!” Sam said, exasperated.
“Very amusing. And I suppose the Pope’s not Catholic.”
“Has Ketch done something to him?” Sam asked Cas.
“He is acting strangely, and he called me Castiel,” Cas frowned. “It may be a spell, perhaps it’s Ketch’s idea of a joke. Or perhaps he’s homesick and wants a British friend.”
They went in search of Ketch, but he hadn’t returned from his bike ride and was still absent at supper time, despite his favorite meal being served.
Dean looked a little disappointed, but Sam’s appreciation of the meal - and the fact that Dean had actually served a selection of vegetables with it - soon cheered him up.
Cas spent most of the meal staring at Dean.
“Castiel, can I help you?” Dean asked, frustrated,
“Yes. Please tell me why you’ve started speaking in a British accent.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand your problem,” Dean shrugged. “I am speaking perfectly correctly.”
“But you’re American, from Kansas.” Cas pointed out.
“Oh you colonials do have a strange sense of humor!” Dean laughed. “Arthur will be most amused. Next thing you’ll be saying that he’s from Sydney, Australia! G’day, mates!”
“Dean, there’s something wrong with you,” Sam said, “since yesterday morning you’ve not been acting yourself at all. We think Ketch has done something to you.”
“Nonsense. I’m feeling tickety-boo. Now, be a good chap and clear away this lot,” Dean waved his hand over the dishes. “I’ve got several episodes of The Great British Bake Off to watch.”
“Dean, wait, at least let Cas check you over,” Sam pleaded.
“Go ahead, angel. You’ll see there’s nothing wrong.” Dean shrugged.
“Dean, not only are you acting like a Brit, you’re acting like a Brit from the 1950’s. Something is definitely wrong,” Cas said, as he placed his hand on Dean’s forehead. “I cannot detect a spell, I am not sure what’s causing this behavior,” Cas sighed.
“There you are, I appear to have a clean bill of health, so if you’ll excuse me, Bake Off awaits!” Dean said as he left the room, whistling jauntily.
When Ketch showed up the next day, he looked mildly surprised that Dean was sitting at the table, fully dressed in a suit, reading the Financial Times and singing along to ‘Lola’.
“Hello there, old chap, welcome back!” Dean greeted him, “I shall expect to hear all about your shenanigans later, over a glass or two of malt whiskey.”
“Certainly, Dean,” Ketch gave him a nod and a half-smile.
“What have you done to my brother?” Sam demanded as soon as he got Ketch into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Ketch replied.
“He’s talking in an accent even posher than yours, wearing a suit all day, listening to Brit music.”
“He’s always listening to British music, Sam. Aren’t Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple British?”
“But he’s not listening to any rock music, it’s either Sixties stuff like the Kinks or more recent stuff like George Ezra.” Sam retorted. “He even said he likes Ed Sheeran, when before he’s referred to him as that soulless ginger git, and said he definitely made a crossroads deal.”
“Oh dear, I can see the problem there,” Ketch frowned, “but I honestly haven’t done anything to him…”
“And you thought his change in accent and mannerisms was perfectly normal?”
“I…I…” Ketch looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “It is strange. Was he acting like this yesterday?”
“Yes! You know he was - he’s been like it since you cooked breakfast.”
“I don’t think it’s the breakfast,” Ketch started to look through the cupboards. “Where’s the tea?”
“The tea?” Sam repeated. “Over there on the counter. Dean’s been drinking it by the gallon.”
“Oh dear.” Ketch picked up the packet and read aloud, “English breakfast tea. There’s small print - ‘to be used when needing to change one’s accent and mannerisms’ - that I neglected to notice. Also, I didn’t notice how old it was.”
Sam started to laugh. “So, the tea’s made him think he’s English?”
“Yes, I should imagine only one cup is needed to blend in as an Englishman, but he’s been drinking a lot more.”
“And perhaps as it was made in the fifties, he’s stuck in that time.”
“Yes, I think it also affected me a little, as I didn’t notice the changes in him.”
“And I didn’t drink any…” Sam began to say.
“Sam? Arthur?” Dean called out, “Oh goodie, are you making tea?”
“No more tea for you,” Sam told him.
“Are you sure, Sam?” Ketch asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s rather nice to have a fellow Brit around.”
“Yes, Samuel, move aside and let us Brits have a brew.” Dean said.
Sam hesitated for a moment; it could be fun having an ‘Englishman in Lawrence’ for a while longer, but they had no idea what the long-term effects might be and Sam could never do anything that might hurt Dean.
Sam grabbed the packet and tipped the tea into the waste disposal, ignoring Dean’s cry of protest.
“What the hell are you listening to?” Dean grumbled as he entered the kitchen, wearing his dead guy robe with his hair all disheveled from sleep.
“George Ezra, you said you liked him…”
“No way,” Dean poured himself a coffee. “I must’ve been wasted at the time.”
Sam held out his cell and showed Dean a vid of him singing along to ‘Budapest’ while peeling potatoes and dressed in his best suit.
“What the hell? I was seriously wasted.” Dean said.
Sam fiddled with his cell, then showed Dean him sitting with Ketch in the TV room watching cricket.
“Why am I watching that? And why am I watching that with him?” Dean asked, scratching his head.
“Let’s just say we really need to clear out the Bunker pantry.”
Recipient: dizzojay
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2265
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: title inspired by the Sting song ‘Englishman in New York’. Big thanks to my
wonderful beta.
Summary: I combined two excellent prompts -
Arthur Ketch is staying at the bunker and treats the brothers to a genuine home-cooked full English
breakfast. Arthur Ketch might actually be Dean's favorite person in the whole wide world right now.
Even as a child, Sam knew that if something suspicious looking had a tag that read 'eat me' on it, you
probably shouldn't. Dean however, could never resist anything sweet.
“Good morning, gents.” Ketch greeted them with a smile that had all the warmth of a crocodiles.
Dean scowled at him, but then the best smell in the world hit him - bacon cooking!
“Have you cooked breakfast?” Dean asked, trying not to drool.
“I most certainly have.” Ketch replied. “And to thank you for your hospitality, I’ve cooked you a full English breakfast.”
“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “When did you go shopping?”
“I didn’t need to. You had everything here, except black pudding which I don’t believe you have in this country,” Ketch explained, with a hint of disdain.
“Blood sausages are banned here for sanitary reasons,” Sam replied.
“Nonsense, they are perfectly safe,” Ketch retorted, “and this country’s cuisine is so unhealthy, having the odd slice or two of black pudding wouldn’t make an ounce of difference.”
“Blood sausages?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, that’s what black pudding is, it’s pork blood…” Sam started to say.
“Stop there, Sammy.” Dean shuddered. “He ain’t cooked it, so I don’t care.”
“I found some Heinz baked beans in the pantry, too.” Ketch added.
Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged. Sometimes items appeared that they hadn’t bought, and they just rolled with it. The Bunker had its own magic.
Dean’s eyes widened and his stomach growled when he saw the plate of food Ketch served up for him. “Wow…bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans and…is that fried bread?”
“It most certainly is.” Ketch handed Dean a serviette. “And I’ve made a pot of tea to go with it.”
“I’m good, thanks. I’ll just have…” Sam began but Dean interrupted.
“Sam, don’t be rude; Ketch has gone to a lot of trouble here.”
“More like a lot of frying,” Sam muttered. “I can feel my arteries hardening just looking at it.”
“A good old-fashioned English breakfast may not be health food, but it’s good for your taste buds and sense of well-being,” Ketch handed Sam a serviette and sat down in front of his own plateful of food. “And in fact, bacon is good for the metabolism.”
“Okay,” Sam sighed and ate about half of the food Ketch had served him.
“You finished, Sammy?” Dean asked around a mouthful of sausage. Dean had hardly lifted his head or spoken in the last few minutes, except to moan almost pornographically and say, ‘this is awesome’ or ‘wow, this is so good’.
“Yeah, go ahead.” Sam offered his plate to Dean, who tipped it up and added the contents to his nearly empty one.
“More tea. Dean?” Ketch asked.
“Yeah, it’s weird I didn’t think I liked tea, but it kinda goes better with this than coffee.” Dean held out his cup.
“Quite,” Ketch smiled. “You sure you won’t have a cup, Sam?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Coffee’s good for me.”
Later that day, Sam left the research he was doing in the library to get some more coffee and realized he hadn’t seen Dean or Ketch in hours. He soon found them in the TV room, watching a cricket match. A tray containing a pot of tea, cups and saucers, and a plate of dainty cakes was on the table between them. Sam had no idea where it had all come from.
“Hey, guys,” Sam greeted them. “I..um...I didn’t know you were into cricket, Dean.”
“Ketch is talking me through the rules. It’s much more interesting than I thought.” Dean replied.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam frowned; he was sure Dean’s accent was sounding more like Ketch’s. Perhaps it was because he had spent the last few hours with him.
“You should join us; England are just about to beat the Aussies.” Ketch added.
“No thanks, I’m just getting myself some coffee.” Sam hesitated, feeling uneasy but unable to work out why.
“This is so much better than baseball,” Dean said to Ketch, as he lifted a cup and saucer, then delicately sipped his tea from the cup.
“Just wait until we watch rugby, you’ll realize it’s far superior to American football. All the excitement and danger without the namby pamby shoulder pads and helmets.” Ketch replied and Sam waited for Dean to protest, to tell Ketch where he could stick his namby-freaking-pamby rugby, but Dean just nodded.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Dean grinned.
Sam left them to it, more puzzled than before. Dean could barely stay in the same room as Ketch for five minutes yesterday, and now they were best buddies.
“Wait a moment, Sam. Would you be a dear and fetch us some whisky?” Ketch asked. “I would say beer, but I hate that gnat’s piss you drink.”
“There’s nothing wrong with our beer, and if you want whisky, you know where it is,” Sam retorted.
“Let’s go out and get some decent booze, shall we, Arthur?” Dean asked, adding “After the game finishes, of course,” and Sam’s mouth almost opened in shock. Dean had called Ketch by his Christian name!
“Good idea, old chap.” Ketch agreed. A befuddled Sam left them as they were discussing something called a leg-before-wicket.
Sam didn’t see them until the next morning, when he found Ketch cooking another huge fry up in the kitchen. Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste. He liked bacon, but not every day.
Dean appeared, clean-shaven, and dressed in his best suit. He looked a little pale, but only groaned slightly as he sat down at the table.
“Here you are, old chap. This is the best remedy for a hangover,” Ketch declared as he placed a plate full in front of Dean.
“I do hope you’re right; my head is pounding somewhat,” Dean said in a perfect British accent.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Sam asked, annoyed now.
“I beg your pardon?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“You, you’re talking like someone out of Downton Abbey,” Sam waved his arm, “and wearing your best suit when we’ve not got a case.”
“Dean has merely benefitted from my influence, Sam.” Ketch drawled.
“Yes, there’s nothing wrong with dressing well,” Dean said, “and I’ve grown rather tired of the lumberjack look.”
“Just stop it.” Sam grabbed a cup of coffee and stomped out of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with him?” he heard Ketch ask.
“I have no idea, Arthur. This repast looks delicious, thanks, old bean.”
Ketch went out for a ride on his bike and Sam was sure Dean wouldn’t keep up the stupid prank he was pulling. Sam found him in the library, sitting up straight in one of the armchairs, reading The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go for a ride with your new best friend.”
“Firstly, Samuel, jealousy does not suit you, and secondly, Arthur does not have a spare set of leathers.”
“Perhaps you could get a sidecar.”
“Don’t be facetious.” Dean sighed and placed his book down on a side table.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” Sam asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re referring to,”
The arrival of Castiel saved Sam from further frustration.
“Are you staying for supper, Castiel? I’ll be making toad-in-the-hole, Arthur’s favorite,”
“That sounds most unappetizing,” Castiel replied.
“It’s merely sausages in batter.” Dean explained. “We Brits don’t eat amphibians, that would be the French.”
“Dean, you’re not British!” Sam said, exasperated.
“Very amusing. And I suppose the Pope’s not Catholic.”
“Has Ketch done something to him?” Sam asked Cas.
“He is acting strangely, and he called me Castiel,” Cas frowned. “It may be a spell, perhaps it’s Ketch’s idea of a joke. Or perhaps he’s homesick and wants a British friend.”
They went in search of Ketch, but he hadn’t returned from his bike ride and was still absent at supper time, despite his favorite meal being served.
Dean looked a little disappointed, but Sam’s appreciation of the meal - and the fact that Dean had actually served a selection of vegetables with it - soon cheered him up.
Cas spent most of the meal staring at Dean.
“Castiel, can I help you?” Dean asked, frustrated,
“Yes. Please tell me why you’ve started speaking in a British accent.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand your problem,” Dean shrugged. “I am speaking perfectly correctly.”
“But you’re American, from Kansas.” Cas pointed out.
“Oh you colonials do have a strange sense of humor!” Dean laughed. “Arthur will be most amused. Next thing you’ll be saying that he’s from Sydney, Australia! G’day, mates!”
“Dean, there’s something wrong with you,” Sam said, “since yesterday morning you’ve not been acting yourself at all. We think Ketch has done something to you.”
“Nonsense. I’m feeling tickety-boo. Now, be a good chap and clear away this lot,” Dean waved his hand over the dishes. “I’ve got several episodes of The Great British Bake Off to watch.”
“Dean, wait, at least let Cas check you over,” Sam pleaded.
“Go ahead, angel. You’ll see there’s nothing wrong.” Dean shrugged.
“Dean, not only are you acting like a Brit, you’re acting like a Brit from the 1950’s. Something is definitely wrong,” Cas said, as he placed his hand on Dean’s forehead. “I cannot detect a spell, I am not sure what’s causing this behavior,” Cas sighed.
“There you are, I appear to have a clean bill of health, so if you’ll excuse me, Bake Off awaits!” Dean said as he left the room, whistling jauntily.
When Ketch showed up the next day, he looked mildly surprised that Dean was sitting at the table, fully dressed in a suit, reading the Financial Times and singing along to ‘Lola’.
“Hello there, old chap, welcome back!” Dean greeted him, “I shall expect to hear all about your shenanigans later, over a glass or two of malt whiskey.”
“Certainly, Dean,” Ketch gave him a nod and a half-smile.
“What have you done to my brother?” Sam demanded as soon as he got Ketch into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Ketch replied.
“He’s talking in an accent even posher than yours, wearing a suit all day, listening to Brit music.”
“He’s always listening to British music, Sam. Aren’t Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple British?”
“But he’s not listening to any rock music, it’s either Sixties stuff like the Kinks or more recent stuff like George Ezra.” Sam retorted. “He even said he likes Ed Sheeran, when before he’s referred to him as that soulless ginger git, and said he definitely made a crossroads deal.”
“Oh dear, I can see the problem there,” Ketch frowned, “but I honestly haven’t done anything to him…”
“And you thought his change in accent and mannerisms was perfectly normal?”
“I…I…” Ketch looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “It is strange. Was he acting like this yesterday?”
“Yes! You know he was - he’s been like it since you cooked breakfast.”
“I don’t think it’s the breakfast,” Ketch started to look through the cupboards. “Where’s the tea?”
“The tea?” Sam repeated. “Over there on the counter. Dean’s been drinking it by the gallon.”
“Oh dear.” Ketch picked up the packet and read aloud, “English breakfast tea. There’s small print - ‘to be used when needing to change one’s accent and mannerisms’ - that I neglected to notice. Also, I didn’t notice how old it was.”
Sam started to laugh. “So, the tea’s made him think he’s English?”
“Yes, I should imagine only one cup is needed to blend in as an Englishman, but he’s been drinking a lot more.”
“And perhaps as it was made in the fifties, he’s stuck in that time.”
“Yes, I think it also affected me a little, as I didn’t notice the changes in him.”
“And I didn’t drink any…” Sam began to say.
“Sam? Arthur?” Dean called out, “Oh goodie, are you making tea?”
“No more tea for you,” Sam told him.
“Are you sure, Sam?” Ketch asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s rather nice to have a fellow Brit around.”
“Yes, Samuel, move aside and let us Brits have a brew.” Dean said.
Sam hesitated for a moment; it could be fun having an ‘Englishman in Lawrence’ for a while longer, but they had no idea what the long-term effects might be and Sam could never do anything that might hurt Dean.
Sam grabbed the packet and tipped the tea into the waste disposal, ignoring Dean’s cry of protest.
“What the hell are you listening to?” Dean grumbled as he entered the kitchen, wearing his dead guy robe with his hair all disheveled from sleep.
“George Ezra, you said you liked him…”
“No way,” Dean poured himself a coffee. “I must’ve been wasted at the time.”
Sam held out his cell and showed Dean a vid of him singing along to ‘Budapest’ while peeling potatoes and dressed in his best suit.
“What the hell? I was seriously wasted.” Dean said.
Sam fiddled with his cell, then showed Dean him sitting with Ketch in the TV room watching cricket.
“Why am I watching that? And why am I watching that with him?” Dean asked, scratching his head.
“Let’s just say we really need to clear out the Bunker pantry.”