(Untitled)

[hector_aframian]

Dean is Over It.

Nebraska and the Roadhouse cannot come soon enough.

Rachel's getting increasingly more annoying, and Dean's starting to wonder if travelling on his own would be better.

Anything would be better that this, for sure.

... although possibly not, he thinks, stamping on the brakes hard as they cross the border into Kansas and a

Comments

[amazonofthe21st]

Rachel gasps, hands out against the dashboard, turning sharply to see where the figure went.

"Oh my god, wait, she's not on the road, she must be stuck under the car!"

[hector_aframian]

"Don't be fucking stupid," Dean snaps, checking his pistol before getting out of the car. "She look real to you?"

He doesn't tell her to stay in the car because that wouldn't do any good.

[amazonofthe21st]

He gets a sharp glance in return and it's the first time in since they got in the car that it isn't accompanied by a glare - just surprised. "What?"

She gets out of the car when he does anyway, slamming the door and crouching in flip-flops with her hands pressed to the road to see beneath the car.

[hector_aframian]

Dean isn't paying any attention to her; he's looking around at the road. It's cold, there's a glittering coat of frost over everything -- as they watch it creeps over the Impala too, drawing together over the hood and sliding up the windshield.

(It's summer.)

Damn.

Damn.

"Spirit," he answers Rachel tersely. "And we're in the middle of fuck-off nowhere, goddamnit, and no freakin' Internet." Or access to local papers, or anyone still alive nearby.

[amazonofthe21st]

With nothing beneath the car, Rachel gets to her feet - just in time to have the first layer of skin ripped from her palms when she pulls them off frosted asphalt.

The look she gives Dean says that she believed him when he said he hunted spirits, she just didn't believe him.

"What do we do?"

[hector_aframian]

"We wait."

Dean doesn't even bother rolling his eyes. He gets that look a lot.

"She's making the rules now. We wait, we try'n figure out what she wants and why. And then we try to find her corpse and salt'n'burn the shit outta it."

[amazonofthe21st]

Rachel's nose wrinkles automatically - wait - but she doesn't argue.

"How do we figure it out?

[hector_aframian]

"Don't worry," Dean says grimly, checking his shotgun.

It's dark, quite quickly, even though it was barely twilight before.

"She'll let us know."

[amazonofthe21st]

Rachel's eyes drift up to the darkening sky, narrowed blue and frowning.

"I hate waiting."

[hector_aframian]

"Really?"

Dean does roll his eyes, this time.

"I'd never've guessed."

[amazonofthe21st]

"Try using your brain for activities other than wisecracks," Rachel replies. She leans against the Impala, folding an arm on the roof.

And shivering. A lot.

"Shit, unlock the car, I need my clothes."

[hector_aframian]

"It's not locked."

They might need to leave in a hurry.

[amazonofthe21st]

That's true, they might.

Rachel takes hold of the handle, catches Dean's eye, and tugs uselessly a few times.

[hector_aframian]

"...well, shit."

Dean frowns, looking around sharply. The wind is picking up, noisy in the otherwise silent world.

Ahead of them, several hundred yards down the road, the figure flickers again. It's a woman, in a ragged white dress, pale skin, straggling blonde hair.

She's calling to someone. They can't hear words, but they can hear the desperation in her voice.

[amazonofthe21st]

Calling desperately, needy, searching for someone that doesn't exist.

Maybe Dean attacks creatures like this for a living, but all Rachel feels is pity.

For half a second.

"Do you need the trunk open?"

[hector_aframian]

"You damage my car and I'll damage your head," Dean says sharply. "We're fine."

At least he has his duffel out of the car, having thrown it to the road while getting his shotgun out.

"We better go see what she wants."