"Hey there, you're listening to Radio Free Rascal, and I'm the Rascal here with you on this lonely Monday evening. I've been getting some great requests tonight! Bring on more, you know I want everything you got." Dean smirked at the gravelly, deep and soothing voice of the radio shows host, aptly named 'Rascal'. The show is what brought him out at two am to drive the sleek black Impala through the back woods of the eastern shore peninsula . It wasn't like him to come this far east, but with Sammy at college and his dad gone, hell bent on his own revenge and hunts, he needed something to fill his time and pay his gas. The young hunter had been in this small town area for about a week, it was the longest he could remember staying in such a podunk town since he was probably thirteen. Dean would be lying if he said it wasn't partially because of the exquisite radio show that played from eleven pm to two am. Whether he was in his fleabag motel room or in his beautiful beast of a car, he was tuned to this station permanently and had yet to miss a show since his arrival.
Being in a small area for so long, Dean began hearing of the local lore, a bible that couldn't be pulled from the pulpit, a haunted mansion (which he was still searching for), and of course, some demonic activities in a small bar out in the woods. The area was a swampy mess, known as the Black Forest, the locals claimed evil things had always existed in the forest that span between two towns, Pocomoke City and Snow Hill. Innocent sounding enough, sure, but one couldn't deny there was some freaky shit happening not only in the woods, but in the small clusters of towns on the peninsula. Tonight he couldn't stand the stuffy hotel room any longer, and with the bright blue moon shimmering on the river, Dean got a case of wanderlust that was simply impossible to ignore. The desire lead him to parking in a crumbling, decrepent boating dock out in the middle of bumfuck, the moon was shimmering on the water and had the cracked pavement lit right up just like it was daylight. His radio was of course tuned to The Rascal's radio show, the opening song blaring through his speakers while a smile was plastered across his face. As the music faded out Dean's hands clenched the steering wheel in anticipation of the deep voice. "Alright Y'all, I got a treat for ya this evenin'." At that the hunter straightened in his seat, turning the crackling radio louder, his heart thumping louder than it probably should. "All my lovely listeners know that I normally only do requests for songs, but starting tonight I'll be sectioning off an hour of my time for call in's! Ya can call in to talk about drama, music, local events, I'm down for whatever!" Rascals voice jumped an octave higher, he was obviously thrilled with the idea he laid on his audience, this caused a warmth in Dean's gut, that wasn't completely unfamiliar. "So with that badass announcement to my show, let's get this thing on the road, I've got several callers waitin' already." Dean held his shitty, blocky cell phone in his hand, finger hovering over the call button, but he couldn't bring himself to call The Rascal, so as the show wound to a close, Dean revved the engine of the impala and whipped out onto the highway. Not wanting to miss the closing statement for the show Dean spent a few extra moments hovering in his car. "Thanks for all the requests an call in's tonight gang! Great to hear from you all, and I hope to hear from y'all again tomorrow night! With that I'll leave ya with some good ole' Johnny Cash. Rascal's gone, over and out." God's gonna cut you down began to play promptly after Rascal's departure, the beat was familiar and it comforted Dean. Memories of his old man, and the times before living on the road flashed in his mind, and the sound of his dear mom's voice singing this song to him as a baby brought a tender smile to his face.
With a grunt of not quite pain, not quite pleasure, Dean pulled himself from the car, for being such a land yacht it really lacked comfortable seating. But this car was his one true love, well that and Radio Free Rascal. Dean fumbled with his room key till he managed to get the door open, he dropped his worn leather jacket over the small, stained armchair but didn't bother to remove his boots or any other article of clothing. He was a sleep before his head even hit the pillow. Subconsciously Dean was hoping the nightmares would be less intense after being able to hear Rascal's voice for much longer than usual, but no such luck. Like clockwork Dean was startled awake at six am drenched in a layer of ice cold sweat, his left shoulder burning as always. Shakily he dragged his aching body to the dingy bathroom, splashing water on his face, the hunter avoided looking at himself in the mirror, knowing he would hate what he saw, all dark bags and hollowed cheeks. Muttering to himself he cracked open a beer. "Always the same damn dream..." And it was, always torturous pain followed by a flash of white light, a flutter of black wings and the searing burn on his arm, every day following the dream he checked his shoulder, and no makes appeared. The dream had been with Dean for years, but the white hot burn on his shoulder and flutter of wings was new and had only begun after coming to the Eastern Shore. Vaguely he wondered if they were somehow linked, but decided that was impossible. Within the next few hours Dean was dressed in a simple black suit, false FBI badge and dark sunglasses to hide his sunken eyes, there was a murder case popping up every ten years on the same patch of field. All the victims were women of same hair color, complexion and age. Dean was sure he had yet another case to keep him hanging around this swamp town, and another reason to tune into Rascals radio show tonight, maybe, just maybe he'd be bold enough to give a ring this time around.