Bring On The Banshee

Summary: Takes place after 'Vengeance'. I highly suggest reading that one first to further appreciate Jade Carrigan. Sam and Dean Winchester go to the dirtiest, most grittiest of places. The place where almost no one can survive...

Chapter One

New York City, February 2006

In New York City, there was always something happening. Especially on weekends at the club scenes.

It truly was the City That Never Slept. The lights were all on, and the skyscrapers towered over the traffic crowding the streets below.

Particularly, there was one club in the Hell's Kitchen area of New York City called Club Pentacle that had quite an interesting Saturday night.

Greg Finnigan was a twenty-one year old man, celebrating life in college--and life with hot college chicks in the club. Music was blasting and he was drinking shots with his pals.

Greg was just having some innocent fun. He kept catching the glance of a blonde woman across the bar with light blue eyes that seemed almost hypnotic. She was wearing a rather revealing pink top and black party pants. On her feet were black boots with a five-inch heel.

"You should go for her, man," said one of his friends, "she's hot, and doesn't look like she has a boyfriend here."

"Ya really think I should?" asked Greg, his Irish accent heavy.

"Dude, go for it!" his friend punched him lightly on the arm, "Who knows, maybe you'll get more than just her number, eh, eh?" he raised his eyebrows at the others, who whooped and raised their drinks high in the air.

Greg shrugged and rose to his feet, walking past the dancefloor and sitting beside the girl at the bar.

"Excuse me, miss, can I...buy you a drink?" asked Greg, waving the bartender towards them.

She giggled, "Sure."

"Two bottles of Guinness, please." Greg said to the bartender. Soon the two bottles arrived. Those two bottles turned into doubled. Then tripled. Soon Greg Finnagan was so drunk he was unable to stand.

The woman, however, seemed completely unfazed by the alcohol. She leaned forward and whispered, "What do you say we head out to the afterparty, huh?"

"Where's the aft--par--tay?" Greg's speech slurred.

"At my body." she grinned.

Greg, for the life of him, could not remember this girl's name. But nevertheless, he headed over to her place...wherever the hell that was. The walk over was a blur to Greg. The only thing he remembered was stumbling into an apartment and being thrown on a bed.

"You sure are strong missy." he slurred as she removed his shirt.

"You have no idea." she whispered, removing his pants.

Greg watched her as she removed her blouse and she began to kiss him. First gently, then forcefully. A little too forceful, thought Greg. Nevertheless, he let her continue. He closed his eyes. He felt her looking at him and he opened his eyes.

His eyes widened and he immediately sobered up as he let out a scream.

The New York night however, cruelly remained unshaken by the piercing scream.

------

A loud horn blared loudly, ordering the traffic to move faster on the highway.

Another horn blared.

Then another.

Soon it was a chorus of horns blaring as Sunday morning came upon the highway leading to New York City.

"God, I hate traffic," mumbled Dean Winchester as he slammed his free hand onto the horn, yelling, "Come on, dammit, MOVE!"

"Relax," Sam Winchester rolled his eyes as he remained calm in the passenger's seat, "it's New York, for God's sake, it's always packed here."

"Yeah, well, maybe we should've stayed in Jersey...MOVE, DAMMIT!" Dean yelled, then sighed impatiently, "Remind me why we're even here."

"Because," Sam said simply, "strange occurances have been happening in New York's club scene."

"Yeah, it's 'cause people get drunk, Sammy," Dean was incredibly grumpy from not only driving all night, but also because of this damn traffic.

"No," Sam snapped, "these occurances can't be explained. This sounds like another job for us, that's why we're here, Dean."

Dean honked the horn again.

"You know, at that rate, you're going to break the damn thing," Sam replied.

"I really don't give a--!"

A horn blared behind the Impala.

Dean honked back and poked his head out the open window, yelling, "Blow it up your--!" he honked his horn purposely as Sam rolled his eyes.

------

The Impala pulled into an underground parking lot. Dean turned off the ignition and leaned back. Sam looked around. Where the hell were they? As if on cue, answering Sam's question, a parking attendant walked up.

"May I help you sir?" he asked Dean.

"Yeah, I need to park this car for about a week. How much would that be?" asked Dean.

"650 bucks for the week," answered the parking attendant almost immediately.

"Dude, that's expensive. Let's just park in the street. We can find a hotel from there." replied Sam to Dean, who began taking out the credit card with the name Randy Smith.

"Too risky. Alternate side. My ass is not getting up every morning to move the car somewhere. It's too friggin cold." answered Dean, giving the guy the card and smiling.

"Dude, how are we supposed to get around?" Sam asked. If they couldn't drive the Impala around the city, how else would they travel?!

Done. I'll update soon.