AUTHOR'S NOTE: I love this show. Hot men, sexy car... what more could you ask for?

I've only just finished Season 6 so you'll have to forgive me for any continuity errors. I tried to write this without relying on the plot of any given season so feel free to think of the story wherever you see fit.

Anyway, first Supernatural fic - I'd love it if you'd drop me a line, tell me what you think, whatever turns your driveshaft ^_^

CHAPTER ONE

[dean winchester]

I'm not sure what finally did me in – it was either the crunch of hoof meeting forehead, or the crack of skull meeting sheet metal – but I was glad that it knocked me out quick.

Getting kicked in the head by a horse isn't fun, especially when that horse is extremely pissed off, weighs half a ton, and literally wants to eat your still-beating heart right out of your chest. (God, I hate skinwalkers. I really do.) Luckily for me, the monster had damn good aim, and like I said it knocked me out fast and spared me the immediate pain. I think I woke up once and found that my brother had managed to stuff me in the backseat of my Impala with towels piled under my head to sop up the blood.

Head wounds always bleed like hell, right? Had to look way worse than it really was.

I must've pulled out of unconsciousness again, long enough to be pissed off that Sam was driving my car, and long enough to understand that he was going to leave me here for a few minutes while he went into the store to get a phone charger because his broke, and he'd be back quick, okay? So just hang in there for a little while, and don't move.

Full awareness teased the corners of the blackness. Eventually, I was able to push my way out, and though my vision swam and my head throbbed like – well, like it'd been kicked by a horse – and my first thought was damn, Sammy left the radio on. There was music in the car. A low, pleasant female voice humming the words to a song I knew but couldn't tack a title to.

Don't believe the church and state, and everything they tell you…

I groaned and forced myself to sit up, because let's face it. I cared more about the Impala than I cared about life itself. (I'm pretty sure my final dying words will be 'Don't jack up my baby'.) Replacing a dead battery or jumping the car definitely wasn't something I wanted to worry about right now, so I hoisted myself up, ignored the way my brain sloshed around like jelly inside my skull, and went for the radio.

Believe in me, I'm with the high command…

What was this shit that Sam was listening to? Some modern acapella cover of classic '80s rock? I growled to myself and waited for my mind to make sense of the watery images my eyes were feeding it.

Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you…?

I paused with my fingers inches from the controls.

The radio wasn't on.

What?

Can you hear me? Can you hear me running…? Can you hear me running, can you hear me calling you…?

I couldn't see a damn thing. It was dark outside and the dark leather interior of the dark Impala didn't exactly help the situation. Fear started to tighten its grip on me. I was confused as all hell, I was injured, and I was alone… unless I wasn't.

Somebody was singing, and that somebody was inside the car with me. Sounded that close and that loud. It didn't sound bad, and in my dazed state of mind I wondered if I should lay back down and let it lull me to sleep, but the fear struck me all over again when I realized I couldn't see the source of the voice.

If you stay in the hunting business long enough, you know that the things you can't see are the ones you should be the most afraid of.

Some years ago, I'd torn all the door panels out and rigged holsters to the insides so I could stash various weapons out of sight. The door closest to me (driver's side rear) concealed my favorite hunting knife. My touch grazed the edge of the smooth bone handle. Slowly, very slowly, I reached up, closed my hand and slotted my fingers into the grooves carved into the grip.

There's a gun and ammunition just inside the doorway… use it only in emergencies…

I pulled the blade out of the door panel. It came free with the pop of a metal snap loosening. Passenger's seat. There was a shadow there, I was sure of it. Or so I thought. My damaged head was playing tricks on me. Maybe. I sat up, slowly, didn't pay any mind to the way my center of gravity shifted and tried to drag me back down into the seat, and prepared to strike.

The voice stopped singing.

Then, Uhh… Dean? What are you planning on doing with that? There's nothing there; I checked. I think. Maybe I missed something… Dammit, Sam! Now would be a great time to come back!

I launched myself at the passenger's seat, brandishing the knife, reaching out with my other hand to secure the monster in question before dispatching it with a swift blow to the neck… but my fist balled on empty air. My chest thumped the back of the seat, and I caught myself with my elbows, breathing hard. What the hell?

The strange female voice spoke frantically. Oh, shit! It's here? How did I miss this? …What did I miss? I still can't find anything…

"Who are you?" My own voice rasped in my throat and a new headache blossomed along my scalp as I dragged myself into a seated position.

Oh, yeah, Dean. Wonderful idea. Let's talk to the monster because that always works out.

I cleared my throat, let my brow settle low over narrowed eyes, licked my lips, breathed in, and said, "I'm talking to you, dumbass."

Silence.

Something vibrated through the air, and I swore I felt my Impala shift just the slightest bit with the quietest creak of the suspension. Something inside the machine changed. The presence I felt lurking in the background suddenly slammed to the front of my awareness.

…Me?

"Do you see anybody else here?" Something itched my eyebrow; I thumbed at it and felt the stickiness of coagulating blood.

Ah… no. No I don't. That's… that's why I'm confused.

"Well, whoever you are," I grumbled, grimacing when I felt the words slur on their way out. Maybe I was hurt worse than I realized. After all, my head had been smashed between a hoof the size of a dinner plate and the door of the Impala. "I don't care how hot you sound – get the hell outta my car!"

I… Dean, you can hear me? How is that possible?!

"You're yelling in my ear! Of course I can hear you!" Hallucinating. Definitely hallucinating. "Look, I don't want a fight. You walk away right now and I won't come after you, whatever you are."

No, Dean! I'm not a bad guy! Holy shit, all these years, man. All these years and all it takes is a good knock to the head? I… I can't get over this. I can't. I mean, you can hear me! Driver, you can HEAR ME!

My eyes widened. I let myself slip against the backboard of the seat in front of me, resting my chin on the edge. Where the hell was Sam? I was fairly certain I was going insane. Maybe I needed a hospital. "What… what did you call me?"

Oh, my God. I can't believe this. Dean. Dean! You know who I am. You've known me your whole life, man. I haven't talked to anyone since your father. Anyone who's been able to hear me, anyway. Holy hell, driver. All this time…

"You… you aren't…" I slipped from the seat and sort of slumped over in the back, half on the floor, half propped against the door panel. The knife was still wrapped tightly in a clenched fist. My next words balled in the back of my throat, blocked by a tongue that suddenly felt as thick as a tree trunk. I barely spat them out. "You can't be—"

"Dean? Who are you talking to?" Sam threw open the door and sat a few plastic bags on the seat next to me.

The realization was slowly eking its way into my bruised brain. My eyes widened as Sam's narrowed with concern. He tilted his head. "Dude. You okay?"

Oh, shit, did I scare you? The female voice cracked into my brain again.

"Ya think?" I coughed, and began to laugh because I was certain of two things: I suddenly knew who was talking to me, and I'd completely lost my fucking mind.

"Dean?" Sam again, reaching towards me as my head lolled to the side and a delirious grin split my features. "Who are you talking to?"

I slumped to the side. My head thumped the window.

"Talkin' to Baby," I slurred.

Sam blinked, then sighed and rolled his eyes. "Seriously. You're having a conversation with the Impala."

"Yeah, well…" My cheek brushed the collar of my button-up shirt, and I knew I was losing the fight to stay awake. "She started it."