I still don't own them, but I'm in negotiations disguised as a lawyer for the studios, so keep your fingers crossed. g

Again, procrastinating finishing this. Seems to be a pattern. I'm relying on my new math: Posting + Guilt Completion. That seems to be a valid equation as far as I'm concerned. Maybe I need a self-help seminar… or just a good swift kick in the butt?

…………………………

South by Southeast

Gurdon, Arkansas

Kyle Truman threw the pick-up into park and cut the engine, the silence from the surrounding ruins suddenly engulfing them in its embrace. He leaned back casually against the seat, his right arm extended against the top of the cool vinyl of the truck's bench. His hand filtered through the silky strands of his companion's long blonde hair.

"Kyle," Shelly cautioned, her apprehension apparent in her voice. "What are you doing?" She shifted her head away from his hand and glanced around into the darkness of the abandoned yard.

Kyle's eyes flashed momentarily at the brush off, quickly masking his anger with a roguish grin, his eyebrows dancing as he responded. "You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet to talk, Shel." He motioned with his other hand to the eerie darkness outside of the truck. "This is pretty quiet."

"I know," Shelly continued to look around, folding her arms tightly around her and hunching her shoulders up toward her neck. "It's just this place…" She shuddered. The abandoned train yard had always creeped her out – even in the daytime when she had played there as a kid. It had always just felt so… dead.

The building that had once held the train depot offices was nothing more than a pile of rotted wood and stone, and the maze of tracks that ran through the yard were in dire need of repair, with most of the ties rotted or missing and the metal tracks rusted and all but collapsed. The weeds had taken over most of the yard and the small swamp to the south was threatening to drown the entire area. A few good rains, and the entire yard could end up under water from the nearby lake.

Of course all the local ghost stories didn't help. Shelly could remember her older brother taunting her with all the legends about ghosts and mysterious lights. The stories had become quite the urban legend around the county, drawing hundreds of people around Halloween every year.

"Oh come on, Shel," Kyle couldn't stop his snort of laughter. "You don't actually believe all those stupid stories about ghost lights and this place being haunted, do you?" Kyle shook his head and continued to laugh. "It's all just local mumbo jumbo for the tourists!"

"I know," Shelly snapped, her anger at being laughed at tempered by the very real feelings of apprehension she felt about the rail yard. "It's just… this place. It creeps me out."

Kyle leaned toward her, his eyebrows rising suggestively as his hand gripped her shoulder. "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you." He forced himself forward, pulling her toward him.

Shelly wedged her arm between them and pushed him back. "Get off me, Kyle!" Her face scrunched up in distaste when she smelled the alcohol on his breath. "You've been drinking!"

"Come on, Shel –"

"No!"

She quickly grabbed the handle and opened the door, jumping out and slamming it shut before he could grab her.

Kyle slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he watched her run from the truck, her small form quickly enveloped by the darkness.

"Fine!" he screamed through the open window. "Walk home! You're nothing but a frickin' tease anyway!"

He slammed his hands into the wheel a few more times before sitting back in the seat and wiping a hand down his face. "Stupid bitch." He reached across to the glove compartment and retrieved a silver flask. Twisting the top, he took a long pull of the whiskey and closed his eyes, relishing the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat into his stomach.

When the flask was empty, he tossed it onto the seat and sat back, allowing the booze to drown his anger. He didn't notice the fog as it swirled around the truck, thickening to blanket the vehicle in a gray shroud. He didn't feel the truck as it slowly moved forward, coming to a stop directly across the dilapidated tracks.

The first sign of something wrong came when a loud whistle pierced the silence. Kyle quickly scrambled up, his face turning toward the left as the bright white light of the oncoming train filled the cab.

Kyle pulled on the door handle, but it would not budge. The light became brighter, the sounds of the train echoing in his ears, the pounding of the train reverberating in his chest.

Huddle against the door of the truck, Kyle watched as the light bore down on him and did the only reasonable thing he could do. He screamed.

…………………………………………………………..

Route 5, Southern Missouri

The black Chevy barreled down the two lane highway, barely contained within the speed limit, the sounds of Nazareth's Hair of the Dog, blasting from the open windows.

Sam Winchester watched in awe as his brother shoved another handful of brightly colored candy into his already full mouth.

"Mmmmmm, these jelly beans are awesome!" Dean slurred around the confection as he chewed in unabashed joy.

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe you're eating jelly beans for breakfast."

Dean threw him a reproachful look. "Hey, they're fruit flavors," he offered in defense.

"For what you paid for that little bag, we could've bought a real breakfast – for the both of us." Sam shook his head as his brother swallowed and shoved another handful into his mouth." "I'm surprised you didn't just get the coffee flavored ones and save yourself some time."

"Dude, that's just gross." Dean's expression turned to one of disgust. "Coffee belongs in a cup, not in a jelly bean."

"You've got some really weird priorities, man." Sam didn't really believe that. After all, his brother had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that his priorities were in fact very specific. Protecting Sam, killing demons, hunting evil, saving everybody else. Last but not least on that very short list, was Dean's own well-being. Despite Dean's bravado and devil may care attitude, Sam had finally realized that his brother was one of the most selfless human beings he had ever known. And it was that selflessness that made the situation they faced all that much more ironic.

Dean was going to hell.

Because he put Sam first.

If only other people had such screwed up priorities… the world would be a much better place.

Dean just shrugged. "Tell me about it, dude." He motioned to the papers lying on Sam's lap. "So, talk to me. What's our new case?"

Sam took a deep breath and grabbed the papers. "One word: decapitation."

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave his brother a grin. "No shit?"

"No shit," Sam returned the grin.

It was enough to make Dean forget about the jelly beans lying in his lap. "Vampires?" Their recent encounter with Gordon Walker was still fresh in their minds and neither brother was keen on facing any new vampires anytime soon. Dean absently rubbed at his neck. The puncture wounds from his close encounter with Gordon's vamped out self were physically almost completely healed, but the fuzzy memory of having the ex-hunter's teeth sink into the flesh of his neck still gave him the willies.

Sam cleared his throat causing Dean to shift his eyes momentarily to his brother. They hadn't really discussed what happened with Gordon, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was torn between guilt and relief, but he wasn't about to push the younger man. If Sam wanted to talk about it, he would let Dean know. Until then, Dean was okay with trying to pretend it never even happened.

"Don't think so. Kyle Truman," Sam read from the printout. "22 year old college student, found dead in his pick-up at an old railway yard. The doors were locked from the inside and there was no sign of tampering."

"Then how did he lose his head?"

Sam shrugged. "That's the 'our-kind-of-weird' part. There was no blood in the truck. The cops think he was killed somewhere else and placed in the truck to look like some freaky kind of death."

"But you don't." Dean's inquiry was more of a statement than a question.

"I checked back and found three other incidents along the same stretch of abandoned tracks within the last 50 years. All males in their 20's, all missing their heads."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, assimilating the information. "Were the heads ever found?"

Sam flipped through the printouts quickly and shook his head. "Not that I could find."

"Huh." Dean rolled the plastic candy bag and tossed it onto the seat next to him. "So we're after something that takes heads without making a mess. I do so love a neat and tidy killer. Maybe we're after Martha Stewart."

Sam snorted in amusement. "As creepy as she may be, I doubt it. According to the reports, Kyle was at the railyard with his girlfriend – a Shelly Donahue. They apparently had a fight and she took off on foot. "

"She see anything?"

"Not according to the police report, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to her."

Dean nodded his agreement. "Okay. Next stop, Sleepy Hollow."

TBC