Disclaimer: Dude, I so wish I owned Supernatural - cause Jensen Ackles is just so 'effing awesome as Dean Winchester.
Alas, I don't. This is set right after the Season O2 finale. (In other words, Season O3 doesn't count.) Rate and review the first chapter of TWTD, s.v.p

Tea With the Devil
Chapter One: Ashes to Ashes

"I'm on the highway to hell! Shut up, Sammy, to hell!" Dean Winchester sang out loudly to ACDC against the roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala. It had been a month after the brother's had opened Hell's gate, and unleashed thousands of horrible, bloodthirsty demons. Now the two Winchester's were doing just as they had done before – drive around in Dean's car and figure out where the next demon was and kill the nasty son of a bitch by sending it back to the underworld for good.

"Dean," Sam pointed out again in his infamous, geeky soft voice, "you do realize you can actually say that literally now, right?"

"Like I said before, Sammy," Dean spun the dark wheel between his fingertips, "Shut up."

"Then why they hell'd you have to save me, Dean? Why'd you have to make the deal with the-"

Dean promptly turned up the cassette player over his younger brother's voice. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his deal he had made a mere three weeks before, with the crossroads demon, to bring good old Sammy back from the dead. In turn, there had been consequences – mainly being that Dean had one year, and one year only, to live before he was doomed to hell forever.

And that slight fact seemed to be pissing his little brother off quite a bit.

Of course, this made Dean angry because – hell! He'd given up his damn life to save Sammy, and all his brother could do was keep complaining about Dean's short lifespan, or how he was supposedly going to save him. Dean hummed the words to 'Highway to Hell' a little more. Sam didn't know about that part of the deal yet. The part where, if Sam tried to rescue Dean, Sam would die and the deal would be worthless.

Dean preferred to keep it that way, knowing his brother.

It was what Yellow-Eyes had said at Hell's Gate that was really bothering him. "Are you sure what you brought back is one-hundred percent, pure, Sam?" Dean shot a glance at his younger sibling, who was still trying to yell something over the beautiful vocals of ACDC. Dean smirked at this.

"Dean!" Sam suddenly said extremely loudly, and almost urgently. This made the older, shorter brother reach for the volume dial and crank the tunes down quite a bit.

Cops.

But what in the world were they doing in the middle of South Indiana in the middle of the night? Dean swallowed and sat lower in the driver's seat. Over the course of the last two years he and his younger brother had gotten themselves into a load of shit, the kind of breaking-and-entering, supposed murder, and bank-heist type of shit that comes with fighting and exorcizing demons from Hell.

Thus, running into the Feds wasn't necessarily a good thing for the Winchesters, and Dean immediately started to come up with a couple of white lies, or an alternate root to escape from their current state. Or, even better: both.

It appeared to be a road-block. Dean felt some relief. The blame couldn't be placed on him – yet.

However, before either of the two brothers could do anything inconspicuous, one of the many officers gave Dean the signal to slow down and stop. Dean quickly looked at Sam again, who in turn glanced at the glove compartment where their various illegal, fake id's were kept.

"Good evening, Gentlemen," the policeman leaned his old, winkled face into the driver's window of the Impala and glanced at the two young men in the two front seats with a firm glare, "nothing to worry about here. We're just regulating the area-" the man readjusted his uniform hat and looked around as Dean recognized the numerous sirens and investigators nearby, "-car accident. We want to make sure it doesn't happen again." He almost immediately turned back to Sam and Dean, who, was still a little miffed. It was a pretty big scene for one, sole car accident. What the hell was going on? It was almost as if all these Feds and emergency vehicles had appeared out of nowhere. Just his luck – he'd much rather deal with a couple of bastard hellions than these bothersome investigators who seemed to follow him everywhere he damn went.

Dean squirmed in his seat. The Cop gave him a weird look.

"My brother doesn't enjoy death – especially if it's of other people." Sam said loudly, and Dean gritted his teeth. Would he ever let it go? He got to live, didn't he? The Cop however, nodded and seemed to understand.

"It must have been a pretty gruesome accident." Added Sam, ignoring Dean and going with the flow of the conversation. He had a strange feeling about this scene. Something wasn't right.

"Yes." The old man said in agreement, and kind of leaned on the door of the Impala as he chatted with the brothers. This, of course, made Dean squirm in his seat even more. How dare this jackass touch his car! "Many accidents near our town lately have been." The Cop looked around the highway again, almost frantically.

This made the Winchester brothers immediately look at each other. Could it be possible that there was yet another dead-highway-killer on the loose?

"So, are you guys looking for someone then? A driver, or an odd looking person?" Sam asked, as the Cop turned his attention once again to the brothers.

"Yes, and have you're guys' car radios been working properly?" Dean inquired, "'Cause, you know," he added as the policeman looked at him funny again, "ours' has been cutting in and out."

"We're not exactly looking for anyone…" The policeman said carefully, "But come to think of it, there has been a number of electrical problems within this area, but that's mostly because of our high storm rate during the summer."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Storms? If there were any big electrical frequencies or a sky as black as night, it could very well mean traveling demons. More specifically, it could mean that there was a job to be done here. A hunting job.

"But, I'm sure you two boys will be fine." The Cop said suddenly, smiling somewhat at the Winchesters. "Have a nice-"

"I told you, she was right there!" A frustrated and fearful yell interrupted the phony farewells of the policeman. A teenager, who looked about seventeen was standing in front of one of the ambulances, a gray blanket draped over his narrow shoulders. He was covered in sweat, and blood. A Cop was nearby, and seemed to be trying to get him to sit down. "I-I hit her… With my car!… I freaking killed her, Oh my god, I fu-"

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to calm down. There was no woman in front of your car. You just ran into a tree, presumably because you're under the influence. Now son, you're in a state of shock-"

"I'm telling the damn truth. I'm not freaking drunk." The boy glared at the older man and spoke in clear, sharp words. "I ran over a woman with my car. She… She came out of thin air.. She was wearing a white sweater, and she walked in front of my car and I slammed into her body. I heard her bones breaking into little pieces. Her chest was covered in blood. I broke her heart. Literally. And now… Now she's gone."

"I think you boys have heard enough." The Cop who had recently been leaning on the side door of the Impala said, as he stood up and glanced towards were the freaked out teenager was standing. "Safe traveling, and don't drink and drive." The Cop tapped on the top of the Impala's roof, and walked towards the ambulance. Dean swallowed, grumbled something that was probably a long string of swear words, and followed the directions to drive on the side of the road.

As they drove past the accident, Sam looked at the seventeen year old's car that was being toed away – there was definitely a large dent on the hood; blood on the windshield. He had definitely hit something. And that something, was certainly not a tree.

Dean seemed to have picked up on that too. Cops were terrible liars after all. He went down the road for about five minutes, and then turned into a tall, grassy ditch. His fingers reached for the keys, and he turned off the Impala's engine.

"Dude, like, what the fuck is going on?" Dean said quietly, still looking ahead. "I mean, we've heard of ghosts, but if he really did hit that chick, how the hell would her body just disappear? I mean, that's screwed up, even for us."

"I don't know, Dean. That's what I was thinking. I mean, maybe she was never truly human in the first place… Maybe she was a ghost."

"A ghost that made that big of a bloody hood ornament?" Dean chirped in, giving his brother a stupid look. "No way. I would say the kid was drunk, but, then how the hell was there blood on the outside of the vehicle?"

"Yeah. And that Cop that was talking to us… Demon's have definitely been passing through this town, Dean." Sam added thoughtfully, resting his hand on the glove compartment.

"Damn that son of a bitch." Dean suddenly muttered hotly. "That stupid Cop blew our cover."

"What are you talking about, Dean? He didn't even ask to see your license. Sure, he was checking to make sure we weren't 'under the influence' either, but-"

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to go back to the accident scene and go ghost-busters on the damn thing if that guy's already seen our faces? We can't dress up like Feds, he already knows what we look like. Crap." Dean groaned in agony. The more he thought about it, the more he hated the idea of policemen. It wasn't like they ever knew the real cause for accidents like the one that seemed to have happened earlier this very evening.

"Well, at least one thing's for sure," Sam spoke solemnly, having always had the right of sensibility between the two brothers, "we can't go back to that accident scene tonight. May as well drive for another forty minutes and pull in at the nearest hotel. Then we can do some research on the past history of this highway and the possible identity of that women in the white sweater that teenager says he killed." Dean silently agreed, turning the Impala into 'drive' again and pulling out of the ditch. The stretch of road was now eerily lonely and quiet. He frowned.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said gently, clearing his throat a little. Sam looked at him, half-hoping that he was going to bring up a somewhat-good reason as to why he wouldn't let Sam help him get out of his deal with the cross-roads demon. Instead, Dean's fist seemed to tighten on the steering wheel as he spoke uncertainly. "What the hell do we do if this woman… Well, if she isn't, like, you know, dead?"

"Oh, I'm quite positive you won't have to worry about that."

Sam's head spun around, and Dean's wide eyes looked up in the rear view mirror. Shit.

There, in the back seat was a woman. She was tall, probably around six feet, toned and was tanned. She had dark, deep chocolate eyes and thin, red lips. Her hair was an auburn, chestnut shade of brown and she looked like someone out of one of Dean's 'woman' magazines.

Best of all, she was wearing a white sweater. With a huge, unmistakable crimson red stain on the front.

"Sam, grab the gun out of the glove compartment!" Dean yelled, and he could feel his heart rush with adrenaline. Damnit! The Impala seemed to swerve on the road as Sam ripped open the glove compartment and began to rummage around for the gun that was loaded with rock salt for repelling ghosts and other demons.

Sure it wouldn't kill her, but at least it would buy them some more time to come up with a plan.

"Sam and Dean I presume. A pleasure, I'm sure." The woman piped up again, a sly smile on her lips.

Dean grimaced. She knew who they were. Crap, she had to be a demon. "Sam!" He yelled again, this time in more of a protective tone.

"Not in the mood for introductions?" The woman – or demon – spoke up again, as Sam loaded the silver 22' rifle in the passenger seat.

Dean could feel his head pounding. God Damnit! What was talking Sam so long?! His nerves were going crazy, and the hair stood up straight on the back of his neck. His car – oh crap, the demon was in his car! This was even worse than with that asshole police officer. If she did so much as leave an imprint on the seat… God, did the whole interior already smell like sulfur? He tried to focus his attention on Sam, but he was more attracted to the demon-woman in the back seat of his vehicle than his brothers current difficulties with weaponry.

He was sweating. That demon-woman was making him so uncomfortable! Why couldn't demon hunting ever be simple and easy? Why did Dad have to die? Why did he have to make this stupid deal to bring Sam back from the dead? Why was life as he knew it so-

The explosion of a familiar gun shot rang out -thankfully- in his ears. Sam held the smoking-gun in his hand, which was pointed directly at the demon's head. Sam's face was a little pale, and he was sweating a little too. Though, he was not nearly as freaked out as Dean was, and he still wore a serious expression on his face.

"You don't even want to know a little bit about me?" The demon said in a calm tone, and Dean felt his frustration and anger boil. Sam paled a little bit more. All their weapons were in the trunk and this… Thing still wasn't gone?

"That's okay then. Because I know all about you two." She smiled again.