Highway to Hell: Episode One: "Hell's Belle"
Episode 1 : Hell’s Belle
Episode Wordcount: 12,644
Rating: R for language and violence
Pairing: Dean/Monte (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor do I own any of the songs that make an appearance. I do however own Monte and her world. She is completely mine, or should I say completely me, everything about her is based off me and my life.
Summary:AU, I started writing after “Route 666” aired, so anything after that is disregarded, and Meg, even though she came before, will be ignored as well.
Dean and Sam run into an interesting stranger. Helping her work through her own personal crisis they find themselves drawn into her world, and she into theirs.
Chapter 1: And Your Name Is?
Chapter Wordcount: 2651
She was cruising down a deserted stretch of I-585, doing at least ninety when that all too familiar lurch in her Monte Carlo started again. She glanced down at her odometer as her foot slammed the accelerator to the floor, making the car chug even more.
“Damnit, every fuckin’ 500 miles.” She swore.
It was never really a big inconvenience, but having to stop and change a damned fuel filter every five to six hundred miles could become a little annoying. There was nothing wrong with the car mechanically, but for some reason the fuel filter had always been a problem. Her father had helped her ‘fix’ it way before he died; putting a larger one on the side, jury-rigging their own fuel lines and making it easier to change.
She pulled off onto the gravel shoulder of the road and snatched her hoodie from the backseat. It had to be at least 40 degrees outside and in the dead of January. She leaned over the passenger seat, twisting the knob to the glove box, the tray dropping down and her hand quickly shoving a gleaming custom double-barreled .38 out of the way and grabbing the spare fuel filter she kept there, as well as the nut driver she needed to change it. She quickly punched the trunk release button before slamming it shut. She then popped the hood and yanked on the door handle, standing up in the crisp northern Georgia air, pulling her hoodie over her head quickly.
She walked around to the trunk, lightly grabbing the small tail fin and lifting it. She reached into the corner, past the toolbox by her spare and rummaged for a decently clean rag. Slamming the trunk closed and walking back to the front of the car, she quickly lifted the steel cowl-induction hood and walked around to the passenger side to undo the current, and apparently blocked, fuel filter. She spun the nut driver in her hand so effortlessly it was apparent she knew what she was doing.
The piping hot filter was thrown on the shoulder of the road with the aid of the rag and the new one quickly took its place. She had just about finished tightening the first clamp when she heard the distinct rumble of a big-block Chevy. Quickly looking back down the road where she came from she saw the black beast at the crest of the hill. Something sparked deep in her stomach. Damn, that thing was hot.
She watched it as it flew by in all its glory and down the next hill, before returning to her task.
*AC/DC’s “Back In Black” playing in the background*
Sam and Dean were cruising through Georgia following the most recent set of coordinates that had been sent to them. The ’67 Impala was nothing more than a black blur as Dean accelerated the car over a hill, passing a stranded motorist in an equally impressive car. Sam watched as the car blurred by but said nothing as Dean kept driving.
When they made it to the lowest point of the hill Dean brought the car down to maybe 15 miles an hour and did a U-turn in the middle of the highway.
“Umm…Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam asked cautiously.
“Dude…there was a girl under the hood of that car.”
“Yea…and?”
“A GIRL…under the hood of a CAR. A girl, working on a car, I gotta see that.”
“You’re pathetic.” Sam scoffed, shaking his head and looking back out the window.
She had finished with the filter and was just doing a check up on some things under the hood when she heard the rumble come back. She watched as the black Impala yet again passed her, went maybe a mile down the road back the way it came, did a U-turn and returned, pulling off on the side, parking behind her.
She stood up with her rag grasped in one hand, letting her other reach behind her in what looked like a simple gesture of wiping some grease on her pants. In reality she effortlessly reached the waist of her pants, fingering the safety off on the Glock that was resting patiently there. She shifted her weight just enough to feel the comforting coolness of the steel blade strapped to her ankle and the shape of her four inch switchblade in her back pocket.
The Impala’s doors squeaked their opening as two twenty-something-ish guys got out. She growled inwardly. She had made it this far and only had to break some bones. She really didn’t want to have to draw blood and mess up these little boy’s faces. Damnit…they just had to be hot didn’t they.
“Hi.” The roguish, more ruff looking one offered, a big grin on his face as he eyed her car.
Great, she thought, not only after the girl, but the wheels as well?
She caught the taller ones eyes and could see pain. Deep seated pain. He didn’t look like the type that would start trouble, and despite the other one’s bad-boy look, he didn’t either. This wasn’t what it had originally looked like. And when she looked back into the shining hazel eyes of the one closer to her she saw no ill will. Not that that made her drop her guard any.
“I’m Dean,” the first one said, offering his hand, and nodding towards the other. “and that’s Sam, my brother.”
“Hey.” She offered cautiously, shaking his hand and almost laughing when his face twitched when she shook it firmly.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Nothing, I fixed it.” She cut out, wiping her hands on the rag and quickly tightening the wing nut on her air cleaner.
“Aww…come on, I thought maybe we could help ya out.” He said with a heart-melting grin.
She stood up and stared him down with her gray-blue eyes.
“Why?”
He shrugged, “Thought you might need it.”
Sam was quickly seeing where this was going and trying hard to stifle his laughter.
She shot a glance to the left where Sam stood, and walked back over towards Dean, her left hand snaking out and grabbing the upturned hood, pulling it down so quickly and with such force that when it slammed shut the entire front end of the car recoiled an inch or two under the strain.
Dean’s eyes snapped to the car as the metallic sound of steel slamming shut reverberated through the hills and quickly went back to the girl that was advancing on him.
“You think that because I’m a girl, with the hood popped on a car that I need help? You think that because I don’t have a set of balls means that I can’t work on a set of wheels?’
Dean stammered. “Umm…no…” He said, looking at Sam for a way out and seeing nothing but a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and looked back at the girl. “I was just trying to be nice. I know a thing or two about cars. I didn’t know if anything was majorly wrong, or if I could help…I was just trying to be a good guy…I swear.”
A grin broke out over her face. “Didn’t mean to be a bitch, just gotta be careful when you’re a girl.” She smiled as she walked around him and opened the driver’s door, pulling the keys out of the ignition and slamming the door shut, walking back around and popping the trunk again, throwing the gas-covered rag back into its corner.
Dean’s eyes snapped to his brother who was quietly chuckling to himself. Dean shot him a death glare and mouthed the word ‘bitch” sarcastically, before he returned his gaze to the strange girl.
She popped open the lid on a cooler that had been stashed in her trunk, rummaged around in the ice, popping a piece in her mouth and grabbed a Pepsi.
“You boys wanna drink?” She offered, tilting the Pepsi in their direction.
Dean had a look of pure confusion on his face as Sam laughed and took her up on her offer.
She tossed a bottle towards Dean without waiting for a response and smiled with the melting ice cube between her teeth, giving him a wink to finish him off.
Dean’s pants instantly shrunk.
Damn her.
She again closed the trunk and hopped up on the side.
“Seriously, I’m sorry about before…I’ve just…been ridin’ for a while, and I’ve had to deal with some assholes.” She said as she took a swig, letting the cool carbonated soda burn down the back of her throat. She again reached behind her and pulled out the Glock, fingering the safety back on and placing it on the smooth metal next to her.
Dean immediately threw a glance at Sam.
“Musta been one hell of an asshole.”
“You have no idea.” She stared into Dean’s eyes before finally looking down at the cracked asphalt. All hostility had left her body, all three of them starting to relax around each other like old friends.
“There a specific reason you’re carrying that thing?”
“A few.” She said, staring at him.
He could have sworn he saw something spark deep behind those blue eyes; a scar on this poor girl’s soul.
She lifted her right leg, putting the edge of her heel on the car and lifting her pant leg enough to show off the curved blade strapped to her leg. She then pulled her switchblade and placed it next to the gun.
“And there’s more where that came from.” She said with a bone-chilling grin.
Again Dean met her eyes. This was getting interesting.
“What’s your name?” He rumbled, deep and low, reminding her of the throaty sound of the V-8 in the Impala he drove.
She almost shivered.
“Tabrina.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Tabrina…like the witch, except with a T. Don’t ask…my mom was weird. But my friends call me Monte.”
“Was?” Sam cautiously asked.
“She and my Dad died in a car crash. The cops said it was mechanical failure on the car’s part…complete bullshit. My Dad was a mechanic. Taught me everything I know, there was no way that car did anything wrong. We had that thing running better than the ones that roll of the assembly lines today.”
“What was it?” Dean jumped in.
“1964 GTO.”
He nodded. “Not the car’s fault.”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
“So what was it?” Sam again asked.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “The thing just blew, in the middle of the fucking highway. Just…boom. Coroner said they were killed the moment the thing caught on flames. Instantly incinerated.”
Sam threw a cautious glance in Dean’s direction. Interesting, another fire claming innocent lives.
She noticed the look, and glanced between the two brothers, “What?”
“Nothin.’” Dean said curtly, shoving his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat.
“Our Mom died in a fire too.” Sam said quietly.
Her gaze met the ground; she felt bad…there was obviously more to that story.
Awkward silence hung in the air, like each breath they took. Small clouds of mist that were the only sign they were even alive.
“So what year is this thing?” Dean asked, his bravado breaking the silence, as he glanced down the side of the Monte.
“’87.”
He nodded.
“Yours is a ’67 right?” She ventured, tossing her thumb in the direction of the Impala.
“Yeah…”
“Lemme guess…427, with…umm…a 4 speed?” She grinned.
“How in the hell…”
“I’m a car girl, incase you haven’t noticed.” She laughed.
“Yea, I kinda did…but how did you know what engine?”
“My dad taught me. I’m not anywhere near as good as he was. But I can tell sometimes. Gotta love that rumble.”
Dean liked her more and more. Weapons, cars, hot; what more could he need?
“Whaddya got in this one?”
“Small-block 400, with an Edelbrock carb. Custom straight pipe duals, Thrush glass pack exhaust, headers, high-performance cam…the whole package.”
“Shit.” He whispered.
She laughed as he walked around the beast. She hopped down off the trunk and opened the driver’s door, pulling the hood release as he walked by the front.
The hood popped up obediently as he walked by and he looked up at her almost asking permission before he reached down and pulled it up; whistling when he saw the chrome and black completely detailed engine. The name “Renegade” was custom inlaid on the air cleaner in red, to match the painted block.
“Renegade?”
“It’s the car’s name.”
He smiled.
After some general car talk the trio stood in silence for a moment.
“Sooo…what brings you boys down here, south of the Mason Dixon line?” She asked.
“Work.” Dean replied.
“Whaddya guys do?”
“We’re…umm…hunters.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“What the hell ya hunting down here? ‘Coons?”
Dean almost laughed. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but this chick had a thick accent.
“Not really.” Sam replied.
She looked between the two brothers. They seemed nice enough, but this skirting around the subject shit was making her senses go on high-alert.
Sam noticed the change in her. “We hunt…hard to find things.”
She squinted. This was getting a little too weird.
Dean tried in vain to change the subject. “What brings you to Georgia?”
She knew what he was trying to do. “Lookin’ for my brother.”
“Did he run away?” Sam asked.
She turned her head to look at him again.
“Ya know what, I think it’s kinda funny you expect me to tell ya what the hell is goin' on in my life,” She said standing straight, and putting her hand in her back pocket; a move that was not lost on the boys. “But yet you won’t tell me a damn thing about you two.”
“Sorry…I didn’t mean to pry…”
She didn’t want a word of it. She yanked her keys out of her pocket and went to get back in her car.
“Wait, seriously…” Dean started.
“No. No waiting, seriously. If you knew half the shit I’ve gone through, or half the shit I’m sure I’m gonna face when I finally track down that asshole of a brother of mine, you’d know better then to fuck with me. I’ve put people in the ground for less. But if you don’t want to shoot straight with me. Than fuck you.”
She got in her car slammed the door and tore off like a bat out of hell. Her Cooper tires screaming as the car slammed torque on them and they made contact with the clay-stained asphalt.
“What the hell…”
“What do you think she meant by that?”
“I dunno.” Dean said, staring as the rear end of the car disappeared from sight.
“Why do you think she had all those weapons?” He asked as he climbed back into the Impala, with Sam on the other side.
Sam pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Didn’t exactly look like something you’d use in a fight though, did it?” He asked, turning to look at Dean.
“Naw, it didn’t. Looked more like the stuff we carry.”
Sam nodded.
“We didn’t get a last name did we?”
“No…why?”
“I wanna know what’s up with this ‘brother.’”
“Dean, what about the job in Tennessee?”
He was met by silence, as Dean stared out the windshield.
“Dean?”
“Huh? Yea, yea…right.” He sighed as he turned the key and continued down the road.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” She swore, hitting the steering wheel with each word.
“Fuck! Great, Monte, just effing great. You find not one, but two, halfway decent guys, probably the nicest two guys you’ve met on this whole fucking escapade and you have to let your fucking temper get in the way. Shit.” She hissed.
She blared the radio to help drown out the sounds of the thoughts that continued to scold her in her head.
*Charlie Daniel’s Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” playing in the background*
Previous: Pictures | Next: Chapter Two
Highway to Hell Master Post
Episode Wordcount: 12,644
Rating: R for language and violence
Pairing: Dean/Monte (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor do I own any of the songs that make an appearance. I do however own Monte and her world. She is completely mine, or should I say completely me, everything about her is based off me and my life.
Summary:AU, I started writing after “Route 666” aired, so anything after that is disregarded, and Meg, even though she came before, will be ignored as well.
Dean and Sam run into an interesting stranger. Helping her work through her own personal crisis they find themselves drawn into her world, and she into theirs.
Chapter 1: And Your Name Is?
Chapter Wordcount: 2651
She was cruising down a deserted stretch of I-585, doing at least ninety when that all too familiar lurch in her Monte Carlo started again. She glanced down at her odometer as her foot slammed the accelerator to the floor, making the car chug even more.
“Damnit, every fuckin’ 500 miles.” She swore.
It was never really a big inconvenience, but having to stop and change a damned fuel filter every five to six hundred miles could become a little annoying. There was nothing wrong with the car mechanically, but for some reason the fuel filter had always been a problem. Her father had helped her ‘fix’ it way before he died; putting a larger one on the side, jury-rigging their own fuel lines and making it easier to change.
She pulled off onto the gravel shoulder of the road and snatched her hoodie from the backseat. It had to be at least 40 degrees outside and in the dead of January. She leaned over the passenger seat, twisting the knob to the glove box, the tray dropping down and her hand quickly shoving a gleaming custom double-barreled .38 out of the way and grabbing the spare fuel filter she kept there, as well as the nut driver she needed to change it. She quickly punched the trunk release button before slamming it shut. She then popped the hood and yanked on the door handle, standing up in the crisp northern Georgia air, pulling her hoodie over her head quickly.
She walked around to the trunk, lightly grabbing the small tail fin and lifting it. She reached into the corner, past the toolbox by her spare and rummaged for a decently clean rag. Slamming the trunk closed and walking back to the front of the car, she quickly lifted the steel cowl-induction hood and walked around to the passenger side to undo the current, and apparently blocked, fuel filter. She spun the nut driver in her hand so effortlessly it was apparent she knew what she was doing.
The piping hot filter was thrown on the shoulder of the road with the aid of the rag and the new one quickly took its place. She had just about finished tightening the first clamp when she heard the distinct rumble of a big-block Chevy. Quickly looking back down the road where she came from she saw the black beast at the crest of the hill. Something sparked deep in her stomach. Damn, that thing was hot.
She watched it as it flew by in all its glory and down the next hill, before returning to her task.
*AC/DC’s “Back In Black” playing in the background*
Sam and Dean were cruising through Georgia following the most recent set of coordinates that had been sent to them. The ’67 Impala was nothing more than a black blur as Dean accelerated the car over a hill, passing a stranded motorist in an equally impressive car. Sam watched as the car blurred by but said nothing as Dean kept driving.
When they made it to the lowest point of the hill Dean brought the car down to maybe 15 miles an hour and did a U-turn in the middle of the highway.
“Umm…Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam asked cautiously.
“Dude…there was a girl under the hood of that car.”
“Yea…and?”
“A GIRL…under the hood of a CAR. A girl, working on a car, I gotta see that.”
“You’re pathetic.” Sam scoffed, shaking his head and looking back out the window.
She had finished with the filter and was just doing a check up on some things under the hood when she heard the rumble come back. She watched as the black Impala yet again passed her, went maybe a mile down the road back the way it came, did a U-turn and returned, pulling off on the side, parking behind her.
She stood up with her rag grasped in one hand, letting her other reach behind her in what looked like a simple gesture of wiping some grease on her pants. In reality she effortlessly reached the waist of her pants, fingering the safety off on the Glock that was resting patiently there. She shifted her weight just enough to feel the comforting coolness of the steel blade strapped to her ankle and the shape of her four inch switchblade in her back pocket.
The Impala’s doors squeaked their opening as two twenty-something-ish guys got out. She growled inwardly. She had made it this far and only had to break some bones. She really didn’t want to have to draw blood and mess up these little boy’s faces. Damnit…they just had to be hot didn’t they.
“Hi.” The roguish, more ruff looking one offered, a big grin on his face as he eyed her car.
Great, she thought, not only after the girl, but the wheels as well?
She caught the taller ones eyes and could see pain. Deep seated pain. He didn’t look like the type that would start trouble, and despite the other one’s bad-boy look, he didn’t either. This wasn’t what it had originally looked like. And when she looked back into the shining hazel eyes of the one closer to her she saw no ill will. Not that that made her drop her guard any.
“I’m Dean,” the first one said, offering his hand, and nodding towards the other. “and that’s Sam, my brother.”
“Hey.” She offered cautiously, shaking his hand and almost laughing when his face twitched when she shook it firmly.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Nothing, I fixed it.” She cut out, wiping her hands on the rag and quickly tightening the wing nut on her air cleaner.
“Aww…come on, I thought maybe we could help ya out.” He said with a heart-melting grin.
She stood up and stared him down with her gray-blue eyes.
“Why?”
He shrugged, “Thought you might need it.”
Sam was quickly seeing where this was going and trying hard to stifle his laughter.
She shot a glance to the left where Sam stood, and walked back over towards Dean, her left hand snaking out and grabbing the upturned hood, pulling it down so quickly and with such force that when it slammed shut the entire front end of the car recoiled an inch or two under the strain.
Dean’s eyes snapped to the car as the metallic sound of steel slamming shut reverberated through the hills and quickly went back to the girl that was advancing on him.
“You think that because I’m a girl, with the hood popped on a car that I need help? You think that because I don’t have a set of balls means that I can’t work on a set of wheels?’
Dean stammered. “Umm…no…” He said, looking at Sam for a way out and seeing nothing but a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and looked back at the girl. “I was just trying to be nice. I know a thing or two about cars. I didn’t know if anything was majorly wrong, or if I could help…I was just trying to be a good guy…I swear.”
A grin broke out over her face. “Didn’t mean to be a bitch, just gotta be careful when you’re a girl.” She smiled as she walked around him and opened the driver’s door, pulling the keys out of the ignition and slamming the door shut, walking back around and popping the trunk again, throwing the gas-covered rag back into its corner.
Dean’s eyes snapped to his brother who was quietly chuckling to himself. Dean shot him a death glare and mouthed the word ‘bitch” sarcastically, before he returned his gaze to the strange girl.
She popped open the lid on a cooler that had been stashed in her trunk, rummaged around in the ice, popping a piece in her mouth and grabbed a Pepsi.
“You boys wanna drink?” She offered, tilting the Pepsi in their direction.
Dean had a look of pure confusion on his face as Sam laughed and took her up on her offer.
She tossed a bottle towards Dean without waiting for a response and smiled with the melting ice cube between her teeth, giving him a wink to finish him off.
Dean’s pants instantly shrunk.
Damn her.
She again closed the trunk and hopped up on the side.
“Seriously, I’m sorry about before…I’ve just…been ridin’ for a while, and I’ve had to deal with some assholes.” She said as she took a swig, letting the cool carbonated soda burn down the back of her throat. She again reached behind her and pulled out the Glock, fingering the safety back on and placing it on the smooth metal next to her.
Dean immediately threw a glance at Sam.
“Musta been one hell of an asshole.”
“You have no idea.” She stared into Dean’s eyes before finally looking down at the cracked asphalt. All hostility had left her body, all three of them starting to relax around each other like old friends.
“There a specific reason you’re carrying that thing?”
“A few.” She said, staring at him.
He could have sworn he saw something spark deep behind those blue eyes; a scar on this poor girl’s soul.
She lifted her right leg, putting the edge of her heel on the car and lifting her pant leg enough to show off the curved blade strapped to her leg. She then pulled her switchblade and placed it next to the gun.
“And there’s more where that came from.” She said with a bone-chilling grin.
Again Dean met her eyes. This was getting interesting.
“What’s your name?” He rumbled, deep and low, reminding her of the throaty sound of the V-8 in the Impala he drove.
She almost shivered.
“Tabrina.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Tabrina…like the witch, except with a T. Don’t ask…my mom was weird. But my friends call me Monte.”
“Was?” Sam cautiously asked.
“She and my Dad died in a car crash. The cops said it was mechanical failure on the car’s part…complete bullshit. My Dad was a mechanic. Taught me everything I know, there was no way that car did anything wrong. We had that thing running better than the ones that roll of the assembly lines today.”
“What was it?” Dean jumped in.
“1964 GTO.”
He nodded. “Not the car’s fault.”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
“So what was it?” Sam again asked.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “The thing just blew, in the middle of the fucking highway. Just…boom. Coroner said they were killed the moment the thing caught on flames. Instantly incinerated.”
Sam threw a cautious glance in Dean’s direction. Interesting, another fire claming innocent lives.
She noticed the look, and glanced between the two brothers, “What?”
“Nothin.’” Dean said curtly, shoving his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat.
“Our Mom died in a fire too.” Sam said quietly.
Her gaze met the ground; she felt bad…there was obviously more to that story.
Awkward silence hung in the air, like each breath they took. Small clouds of mist that were the only sign they were even alive.
“So what year is this thing?” Dean asked, his bravado breaking the silence, as he glanced down the side of the Monte.
“’87.”
He nodded.
“Yours is a ’67 right?” She ventured, tossing her thumb in the direction of the Impala.
“Yeah…”
“Lemme guess…427, with…umm…a 4 speed?” She grinned.
“How in the hell…”
“I’m a car girl, incase you haven’t noticed.” She laughed.
“Yea, I kinda did…but how did you know what engine?”
“My dad taught me. I’m not anywhere near as good as he was. But I can tell sometimes. Gotta love that rumble.”
Dean liked her more and more. Weapons, cars, hot; what more could he need?
“Whaddya got in this one?”
“Small-block 400, with an Edelbrock carb. Custom straight pipe duals, Thrush glass pack exhaust, headers, high-performance cam…the whole package.”
“Shit.” He whispered.
She laughed as he walked around the beast. She hopped down off the trunk and opened the driver’s door, pulling the hood release as he walked by the front.
The hood popped up obediently as he walked by and he looked up at her almost asking permission before he reached down and pulled it up; whistling when he saw the chrome and black completely detailed engine. The name “Renegade” was custom inlaid on the air cleaner in red, to match the painted block.
“Renegade?”
“It’s the car’s name.”
He smiled.
After some general car talk the trio stood in silence for a moment.
“Sooo…what brings you boys down here, south of the Mason Dixon line?” She asked.
“Work.” Dean replied.
“Whaddya guys do?”
“We’re…umm…hunters.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“What the hell ya hunting down here? ‘Coons?”
Dean almost laughed. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but this chick had a thick accent.
“Not really.” Sam replied.
She looked between the two brothers. They seemed nice enough, but this skirting around the subject shit was making her senses go on high-alert.
Sam noticed the change in her. “We hunt…hard to find things.”
She squinted. This was getting a little too weird.
Dean tried in vain to change the subject. “What brings you to Georgia?”
She knew what he was trying to do. “Lookin’ for my brother.”
“Did he run away?” Sam asked.
She turned her head to look at him again.
“Ya know what, I think it’s kinda funny you expect me to tell ya what the hell is goin' on in my life,” She said standing straight, and putting her hand in her back pocket; a move that was not lost on the boys. “But yet you won’t tell me a damn thing about you two.”
“Sorry…I didn’t mean to pry…”
She didn’t want a word of it. She yanked her keys out of her pocket and went to get back in her car.
“Wait, seriously…” Dean started.
“No. No waiting, seriously. If you knew half the shit I’ve gone through, or half the shit I’m sure I’m gonna face when I finally track down that asshole of a brother of mine, you’d know better then to fuck with me. I’ve put people in the ground for less. But if you don’t want to shoot straight with me. Than fuck you.”
She got in her car slammed the door and tore off like a bat out of hell. Her Cooper tires screaming as the car slammed torque on them and they made contact with the clay-stained asphalt.
“What the hell…”
“What do you think she meant by that?”
“I dunno.” Dean said, staring as the rear end of the car disappeared from sight.
“Why do you think she had all those weapons?” He asked as he climbed back into the Impala, with Sam on the other side.
Sam pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Didn’t exactly look like something you’d use in a fight though, did it?” He asked, turning to look at Dean.
“Naw, it didn’t. Looked more like the stuff we carry.”
Sam nodded.
“We didn’t get a last name did we?”
“No…why?”
“I wanna know what’s up with this ‘brother.’”
“Dean, what about the job in Tennessee?”
He was met by silence, as Dean stared out the windshield.
“Dean?”
“Huh? Yea, yea…right.” He sighed as he turned the key and continued down the road.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” She swore, hitting the steering wheel with each word.
“Fuck! Great, Monte, just effing great. You find not one, but two, halfway decent guys, probably the nicest two guys you’ve met on this whole fucking escapade and you have to let your fucking temper get in the way. Shit.” She hissed.
She blared the radio to help drown out the sounds of the thoughts that continued to scold her in her head.
*Charlie Daniel’s Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” playing in the background*
Previous: Pictures | Next: Chapter Two
Highway to Hell Master Post