The impala rumbles up the road. In her leather seats an argument brews and boils over. Sam falls quiet and Dean turns up the radio. Always the same classic songs.
The tension between them elongates the night. It's eighty miles to their destination, but the drive feels like millenniums of signposts and rural crossroad stoplights. The town is an oasis of light nestled in woods that block the stars.
They've spent so long in silence now there's no time left for words.
Dean props the trunk with his sawed-off shotgun. Their armory lies in eager wait.
So begins the hunt.