“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too chummy, Daryl.” Winchester did this quite often. When he felt that people were getting too friendly with him, he’d call them by the wrong name to throw them off at his faux sense of not really caring for them. But he did care for his crew. ‘Course, he’d never say it aloud. “So what’s the plan? Where do I need to be and when?” Winchester rose and plucked the pencil from the man’s eye socket. A sickening squish acquainted the removal of the improvised weapon. Somehow it wasn’t splintered. He tore a sheet of paper from a clipboard and sat down again.