The time- travelers stood on the sidewalk, completely stunned. A crowd of women in full skirts, hats and gloves, and men in sharp suits and debris flowed around them. In their Levi's and leather jackets, Deanna realized that the Winchester girls looked out of place in the smart cooperate landscape, to say the least. The winged chimp really has sent us back to what looks like New York 1954, she thought, her brain struggling to process. It seemed Don had dropped them smack dab in the middle of Time Square, but there wasn't a camera- wielding tourist in sight.
The place was also suspiciously clean and quiet, no crumpled piles of paper or garbage, and no blaring rap music emanating from any of the stores nearby. First, we get our bearings, then I beat your ass, Deanna announced. I didn't- Samantha began. Don't Samantha. Nothing you can possibly say will make up for you throwing us under the bus, again. You're not the only with a stake in this, Deanna. That means, sometimes, you follow my plan. Deanna scanned the bustling crowd, wary of continuing this discussion in public.
Alright, smartly pants. You wanted to do the time warp again, so what's the next move? We get off the street. On that point, Deanna had to agree with her sister. Trying their best to blend in with the crowd, they quickly turned and headed north toward Central Park. Deanna deftly grabbed a New York Herald Tribune from a green newsstand that squatted on the corner of 47th and Broadway. Something's don't change, no matter what era you are in, sleight of hand is still sleight of hand . Deanna peered at the date: June 26th, 1954. She shook her head. That asshole had shot them back almost half a century without even an explanation of where or how to find the War Scroll.
Despite their predicament, Samantha was smiling. This is amazing, she said. What are you, Buddy of the Elf, fresh from the North Pole? Deanna chided. We've been to New York a few dozen times. Yeah, but how many times have we been to the fifties? Samantha retorted. The real fun starts in the sixties. As they crossed a busy intersection, a man in a trench coat clipped Deanna's shoulder. Hey, watch it buddy, Deanna said with automatic vitriol, but when she looked at the guy, for half a second she thought she saw the face of Castiel.