This is set in season eleven, and will connect with specific episodes but will have no connection with the over-arching plot about the Darkness.
The Body in the Trunk
The road stretched in front of him, a black line of asphalt striped with yellow. Dean knew the sight better than the back of his own hand. It didn't matter which road he was on, they were all the same. An endless stretch of black.
The road could take him anywhere. Every road was connected. Every back-road, every gravel drive, ever interstate and suburban cul-de-sac. The road connected everything like a giant web. They had different names and numbers, some were well-paved and others full of potholes. But in the end, there was only one road. A continuous lane just the right size for a car that connected every place. On the road, Dean had no boundaries except the ocean.
This particular stretch of road twisted through the rock and trees of Appalachia. The sun was high, the sky clear, and the asphalt dry. It was a perfect day for a drive. The Impala purred as she glided around the curves, churned up hills, and soared down them again. These mountain roads were nature's roller-coaster. Dean let his arm hang out the window to catch the breeze. There was no better joy than the drive.
He leaned the wheel into a curve, and frowned at the pull against his wrist. That shouldn't happen. But it had been there, ever since the last gas stop twenty miles back. The quality of their turns had changed.
Something was wrong. It was a small feeling, but Dean's mechanic mind knew that the smallest things could bring his Baby to a grinding halt. He slowed the engine and turned off the music to listen. Nothing; there was no knocking, ticking, growling, or any other sound that would indicate a problem with the engine.
Sam raised an eyebrow and turned from his book to stare questioningly at his brother. Dean weaved across the road, feeling the weight of the car as she moved. He listened again.
"Dean!" Sam snapped his book shut and glared at his brother.
"Did you put a body in the trunk that I don't know about?"
Sam stared, mouth hanging open like a fish. "What?"
"A body, in the trunk. The Impala is heavier than she should be, she isn't handling right. Well, she's handling like there's a body in the trunk. But that hunt was a salt and burn, we didn't haul any bodies. Unless there's something you're not telling me." Dean spared a glance for his brother. His face was scrunched, trying to sort out Dean's logic.
"You can tell there's a body in the trunk just by driving?"
"I've been driving this car since I was eight, Sam. I know when something is off."
"Off, sure, but a body?" Sam asked. "How do you figure? What if I put a box of books back there."
"That would only be half the weight."
"Two boxes."
Dean shook his head. "No, it's shifting around too much."
"Dean, there's nothing in the trunk. All we did was get gas and a box of fried chicken."
"Sammy, I'm tell you, there's something in the trunk." Dean pressed on the gas, feeling the car accelerate under him, feeling the trunk drag. He pointed to the gas meter on the dash. "We're burning fuel faster than we should."
"Maybe there's something wrong with the engine." Sam shrank back against the window under the full force of Dean's glare. He should know better than to say such things. "What? It happens, it's an old car."
"I check the engine every week, Sam. There's nothing wrong under the hood. There is something in the trunk that I didn't put in there."
"Well I didn't put anything in the trunk."
"Exactly. So how did it get back there?"
"Dean, there's nothing in the-"
Dean jerked the Impala hard across the empty road and back into the proper lane again. The vehicle rocked, there was a thump, and a small squeal exited the back seat. Sam jumped and turned to stare.
"Um-yeah, I think there's something in the trunk."
"Somebody in the trunk," Dean corrected, easing off onto the shoulder. Dead bodies didn't squeal. Whatever was in the trunk had gotten in there on its own power. He checked his gun before stepping around to the back of the car. Sam came to stand behind him, gun pointed at the tail lights.
"Why would someone be in our trunk?" Sam asked, staring at the black surface.
Dean shook his head. "No idea." He counted down from three on his fingers and lifted the lid. A pair of wide brown eyes stared up at him, the same expression Dean had seen a thousand times on his brother's face. Dean slammed the trunk shut again. There was another squeal, but Dean didn't care. He turned to Sam. His brother stood where he had left him. So what were his puppy-eyes doing in the trunk?
"It's a girl," Sam said, face flinching in surprise. He dropped the angle of his gun, but didn't lower the weapon. "Um-maybe you should open it again?"
Slowly, Dean raised the lid. Yes, it was a girl. A teenager with short-cropped brown hair wearing beat-up denim, clutching her backpack in one hand and a Twizzler in the other. She couldn't be more than sixteen. She stared up at them with those wide eyes, mouth hanging open. Dean glanced up and down the road, but it was empty. Good, no one would ask uncomfortable questions if she decided to scream.
"Please don't kill me!" She ducked behind her over-stuffed backpack, bending her long limbs until she was nearly completely hidden behind the luggage.
"Well, now, that depends."
She peered around the backpack. "Depends on what?"
Sam pulled a flash out of his pocket and splashed water in her face. The girl was too busy blinking and sputtering to see Dean come at her with a silver knife. She yelped when he nicked her arm.
"Hey!" She ripped her arm out of his grasp, grabbed her backpack, and scrambled out of the trunk. Sam caught her in his long arms and brought the full force of his big brown eyes to bear on her. It was the soft, sensitive, you-don't-have-to-be-scared-of-me face. The one that had charmed many a reluctant witness.
"It's ok, we're not going to hurt you."
The girl put a hand over the cut on her arm and looked up at him with big, brown, reproachful eyes. It was classic Sam why-would-you-do-that-to-me. Except it wasn't in Sam's face. Dean felt something squirm in his guts, a silent alarm that he knew what was going on here. Even if he didn't want to admit it yet.
Dean wiped his silver knife clean and returned it to his pocket. "Look, I'm sorry about that, but I had to be sure."
"Be sure of what?"
Explaining that was not going to help this conversation. If nothing else, she was a runaway on her own on an unsafe road. If she ran away from them, who knew what kind of scum might pick her up. No. There was no debate here. They had to look after this kid until she was safely in the custody of a responsible and reliable adult.
"Look, kid. What are you doing in there?" Dean gestured to the trunk.
The girl looked down at her surroundings, and the tears welled up again. They filled her eyes slowly, the levels rising until they spilled down her cheeks in a steady stream. Dean passed the job of calming her on to Sam with a look. Sam settled on the edge of the trunk, hunching his shoulders to make himself look smaller.
"It's ok, you can tell us."
"I was just trying to get a ride."
"Where to?" Sam asked softly.
"I'm looking for someone."
No, no, no, Dean's insides screamed. There was only one place this could go. After so many years on the road, he'd always known it was possible. He just never expected it to slap him in the face like this.
"Who?"
The girl swallowed hard and looked away.
"Why hop in the trunk instead of sticking your thumb out on the side of the road like a normal hitchhiker?" Dean asked.
The girl wiped the tears from her eyes, and considered him for a moment before answering. "I couldn't get a ride." That little twitch in her lips before she spoke gave away the lie. Dean had seen it before many times.
"Try again." Dean leaned in, letting her feel the weight of his presence. "Why ride in our trunk?"
"I wanted to make sure you weren't creepy serial killers or something." She eyed them both and shifted uncomfortably. "But if you are, that's totally ok. I'll just find another ride."
This time Dean held out his hand to stop her. "This isn't a very safe stretch of road. You don't want to hitch a ride around here, you don't know who could pick you up. And I'm guessing you haven't really done this kind of thing before."
She glared back at him. "If I haven't, how would you know? You don't know me at all."
"You don't have the look. Come on." Dean opened the back passenger door. "You can ride with us until the next stop. Ok? Unless you prefer the trunk?"
The girl shook her head, scooped up her bag, and ducked into the back seat. Dean shut the door, and made sure he heard the click that said it was latched properly. She wasn't going anywhere until they let her out.
Sam raised his eyebrows, but didn't question his brother's decision. He knew the dangers of the road, and he could see the same thing Dean could. Clean clothes, well-fed, desperate but without the confidence that came from to much time spent on her own. This girl was on her first solo trip, and the road wasn't safe for her alone.
So Dean started up the engine again and drove, occasionally glancing back at the puppy-dog eyes that stared at him in the rearview mirror from the back seat.
Next up: what does Sam think of their strange stowaway? Where is she from and why choose the Winchester's trunk?