A/N: Here is the much anticipated Chapter Two. Thanx for the lovely reviews! From here on out things go down hill!! Warning in the angst department!

Lux Fati-There is some blood and violence i later chapters, but I dont think it will be enough to turn your stomach, I hope!!

Robbie the Phoenix-Yep, Dino made a mistake there, Sammy is gonna have a field day with him!! Sam's middle name should be trouble!!

Disclaimer: Supernatural - Eric Kripke The Hitcher-Eric Red, Dueling Erics' (do do-do do do do do do do) Okay, creeping myself out here. back to the story!

Sam sat up in the bed, looking at his watch. Dean was supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago with his salad. That was the last time he sent him out for food. He turned the TV on, but all he could get was news, home shopping and scrambled porn. Damn shit holes. The only saving grace was the small bar just off the lobby. Dean had eyed it as they were checking in, and Sam had to drag him away.

Flipping the TV back off he got up from the bed and moved toward the window. The rain was really coming down out there, and this worried him that Dean was out in it. He knew that Dean was a good enough driver, but when the elements were against him, who knew what could happen. He just hoped that he was okay, and that nothing bad was happening.

XXXXX

Dean turned the radio down so as not to disturb his passenger. John's face was turned away from him, so he was not sure if he was still asleep or not, but he was not taking chances. He had not yet woken to tell him where to stop, and they had since passed the motel where he and his brother were staying nearly half an hour back. That upset him a little, also the fact that his cell phone was for shit out here. Another joy of staying out in the damned boonies.

Dean tapped his fingers along to the semi-quiet music, watching John and the road simultaneously. The bag at the man's feet almost screamed at him, as John moved again and was kicked to his left. Whatever was in there had to be important for him to keep it so close. Dean's curiosity was starting to get the better of him, but he pushed the feeling aside, and just in time. John sat up and rubbed at his eyes and nose. He yawned and then lifted the bag to his lap. Opening it, he looked over at Dean.

"It's just a up the way a little bit, not much further. Oh and, I know you've been rather curious about my property here." He gripped the bag closed, and turned all the way to face Dean. Dean pretended to be focused on the road.

"You see, I'd been on the road a while, and the last guy that picked me up was a lot like you." He looked in the bag and sighed. He shuffled something around and then shook his head. Dean began to get an uneasy feeling, but couldn't figure out why.

"He was young, never picked a hitchhiker up before." John continued, the bag open, but covered in shadows. "We had driven for quite a while, when he got too curious." John thrust the bag onto Dean's lap, and he almost had a heart attack. Inside the bag was the head of a man, looked to be around Sam's age. His eyes were wide with terror, and his neck had been severed, a hurried and jagged cut. Dean wanted to vomit, to send his stomach contents flying right then and there. John began laughing, low at first, then it echoed through the car and worked its way into Dean's ears, forcing his head to pulse and ears to ring. To err human, to forgive divine. Dean highly doubted there would be any forgiveness for this mess.

Dean fought to keep the car on the road, his nerves a millisecond from snapping. This was a huge mistake, and John could read it all over his young face, and was loving it. Pulling the bag back, he pulled the leather cord, closing the sight from Dean's eyes. He rubbed it gently then set it back on the floor. Dean breathed heavily, as John slipped a hand into his duster. He left it there for a minute, letting Dean's mind wander and his heart near enough to explode. Pulling his hand back, John held a half empty pack of Marlboro lights and a Zippo lighter. He flicked the lighter twice, then lit it. The flame illuminated his face in the dim surroundings. Sliding a stick into his thin lips, he let it dangle there, sucking on it like liquorice. He then tilted his head to the left, lighting it, smoke enveloping them like an unearthly presence. Rolling his window down a hair, the smoke filtered out into the cool crisp night air. Dean's throat almost closed completely at the calmness of this stranger to his right. He was terrified.

"I can read you like a book son." John took the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke threw his nostrils. Dean eyed him, unaware of what was about to happen.

"You're afraid I'm going to do to you what I did to that other poor boy. Well," He took another long drag of the cigarette, then tossed it from the window. It flipped wildly in the wind. Dean watched it in the rearview mirror, and almost laughed at the irony of how it mirrored his own way of movement. Wild and unencumbered. He jumped as he felt a hand on his knee.

"You'd be right." A click at his right ear made his teeth clench and his balls shrink half a size. Fearing what he would see if he turned, he let his eyes do the work for him. At his ear was a switchblade knife, covered in dried blood. He closed his eyes, and the car swerved. John grabbed the wheel, placing his hand on Dean's.

"Oh my boy, we can't have an accident now can we." He yanked the wheel hard to the right, and Dean's eyes shot open as he felt the tip of the knife dig into his neck. Fresh blood slipped down his throat and onto his shirt. He felt a scream worm its way into his throat, but could not get past his tongue which had grown five times it normal size.

John pulled the knife back and smiled. He wanted this, wanted to see the fear in this young man's eyes. The last young man had died too soon. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had become a liability. Sad though, he would have made a worthy advisory. Yet, young Dean Winchester seemed perfect, not too cocky, not too whiney. He seemed to be able to hold his own, thus far.

"Now, there is something I need you to do for me . . . " The knife back at Dean's neck, digging into his hot flesh. Dean swallowed, and the knife cut him again. He shuddered, wishing he had not picked up this lunatic. He wanted to be back at his shady motel with Sam watching scrambled porn. As God was his witness, he would never complain about that shit ever again.

"I want you to bleed!" John placed the knife just below Dean's left ear, and made a move the slice his neck, when Dean's brain finally fired like it should, and he slammed his foot on the brake. John shot forward, his head hit the dash with a loud crack, and Dean could see blood seeping from a wound on his forehead. He hesitated a moment, then slipped his seatbelt off and threw the passenger door open, tossing John out into the rain-soaked street. He hit with a sickening thud, his head smacking the white line. Dean stared at him, breathing heavily, as rain poured into the car. As he reached for the car door, he saw the satchel that John had left on the floor, and threw it out with him. It bounced beside him and then rolled into a bush out of sight. Dean slammed the door shut, and spun around and headed back to the motel, not daring to looking back.

XXXXX

Sam woke from a restless sleep to the pounding of the motel door. The glow in the dark numbers on his watch read nearly midnight. Who the hell could it be at this time of night? Then his mind unclouded, and he realized who it was. Rushing to the door and thrusting it open, there stood Dean, looking pale and gaunt. He seemed to be in another world, and before Sam could say anything, he pushed past him and ran into the bathroom and Sam could hear him vomiting. What startled him worse than that, was the blood he saw on his brother's neck, just below his right ear. Christ Dean, what the hell happened to you?

Dean hung to the side of the bowl for dear life. The last hour had been a nightmare that he had so desperately wanted to escape from, and now that he had, he wanted to make sure he was on safe and solid ground. He could hear Sammy asking him something about blood, but in his own world, all he could think about was that maniac and his calm demeanour. It unnerved him, and it took an awful lot to do that to the 190 lb., 6'1", 28-year-old Winchester. His facade had been shattered, shattered by a man and a knife. Jesus Christ, he had been through so much shit in his young life, too many goddamned monsters to count, and one man takes his brain and twists it until he could no longer comprehend anything. Sam banged on the door, sending a shockwave of chills down his already weak frame. He flushed the toilet and managed his way to the bathroom door.

Sam stood in front of the door and watched it open to reveal the languid features that were now his older brother. A man that normally towered over him, even though his inches were less, a man who seemed so hard was now reduced to a wan and worn child.

Placing a strong hand on his older brother's shivering shoulder, Sam gently escorted Dean to his bed and set him down, keeping a close watch on the man's eyes. They were filled with terror and kept scanning the room for something or someone. Dean reached up to the blood that had now begun to dry just at his earlobe. He winced as the memory came back to him, and he bent at the waist unable to take it. Sam sat beside him and held his brother, waiting for the fit to end, hoping he would tell him something, not liking the fact that whatever had happened had sent his brother over the proverbial edge.

Dean sat up, letting a grunt escape his tight throat. Looking into his brother's worried eyes, he poured out the entire story like a waterfall. Sam sat back and soaked it all in, trying to remain calm as the words flooded his brain. Some maniac in a cowboy duster, with a knife, turned his hard ass brother to goo. The saints preserve us!

"Christ Dean," Sam stood and looked out the window once more. The rain was coming straight down, and as it traveled down the window it looked like blood. Sam quickly turned back to his brother, feeling instantly sick to his stomach.

"Did you check to make sure he was dead?" Sam knew this was the wrong thing to say, but he knew it had to be asked. Dean glared at him, and jumped up from the bed. His right hand was clenched and his face was now a light shade of red.

"Gee Sammy, why the fuck didn't I think of that? I was too goddamned busy getting my ass out of dodge." He inhaled deeply and pressed his left hand into his forehead. His head hurt, and his stomach was rolling, and all Sammy was asking him was if the guy was dead. Who the fuck cared, he was alive, didn't that matter?

"Shit Dean, I'm sorry. I just want to make sure he won't come after us." He gripped Dean's shoulder tight, reassuringly. Dean shook it off and flopped down on the bed. Sam stood in front of him a moment, shaking his head at his stupidity. Once again he was being an ass, and he knew it. Usually Dean was the jerk and the snot nose punk, but lately he was the one with a bug up his butt. Turning from the sinking figure on the ripped motel fabric, he walked into the bathroom looking for some antiseptic for the cut under Dean's ear. It looked like it was going to be a long night.