Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural…or Metallicar…bummer.
Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so please bear with me. Reviews would be wonderful. Obviously good feedback helps spur on the writing process, but constructive criticism is also readily accepted! I know it's kind of short right now, but once I get the feel of it, my chapters will be longer. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1
"Tell me again why we're going to Laurel County, Kentucky", Sam asked as the impala rolled over the rough pavement of the highway.
"Because", said Dean, "We're going to need some help on this one, that's why."
To hear those words come out of Dean's mouth is few and far between. Dean rarely asked for anyone's assistance, including Sam's. So for him to hear those words escape from his brother's lips meant that they were in trouble. Trouble was something the Winchester boys were well equipped to handle. Help, on the other hand, is something that neither brother was accustomed to. Sure, they were occasionally aided by Bobby, or another hunter, and they were always there for each other, but completely relying on somebody…Not since their father was alive did Dean vehemently seek out the assistance of another man.
Sam was vaguely amused by the irony of the situation. How many times had he tried to get Dean to accept someone's help? How often did he have to twist his arm, or bribe him at the last minute? Now Dean was telling him this like the idea had just come to him one day, and he was brilliant for thinking of it. Sam huffed. It was just like Dean to manage to be a cocky ass, even when on the way to beg for help.
"So, who's going to help us, then?"
"Jack Waverly. He taught Dad everything about hunting. It was his family's business long before it was ours. Dad once said Jack was the only man he could really trust. I figure that goes for us, too."
As he finished his sentence, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of the little diner where they were meeting Jack. Dean liked diners, especially the small, "mom and pop" places like this one. They offered him a feeling of home, like he belonged there. It didn't matter if you'd been eating there for the past fifty years, or if it was your first visit, when you walked in, you were family. That wasn't something a guy in his line of work often experienced. That is, of course, unless he was in a diner like this one.