Life in the Fast Lane
CHAPTER 2 - Lonely is the night

Sam swore under his breath as he eyed the phone in his hand, Dean wasn't answering his calls anymore and his father had yet to pick up on even one of them. Letting out a sigh, he took a seat at his desk and flipped his laptop open, typing in the word Scythe and hoping it would lead him to whatever small town his brother had mentioned. Because aside from barreling down some country road, he didn't know where Dean was or even where he had been heading. When a small town in Nebraska came up on the screen in front of him, the name of another hunter instantly came to mind. "Bobby." He muttered to himself, reaching for the phone and punching down the other man's number. They hadn't spoken for years but if anyone could help him at a time like this, it was Bobby Signer. It only rang once and for a brief moment, Sam couldn't help but feel like he was twelve years old again, calling for help or backup from a man he knew he and his brother could always count on. "Hey uncle Bobby, it's Sam."

"Sam! How ya been boy, how's school going?"

"It's going good Bobby." He was quick to reply, passing a hand through his hair as he tried to find the words. "Listen I know it's late but I could really use your help with something."

"Sure, anything for you kid." Bobby started, pausing for only a moment as something suddenly came to mind. "Everything alright?"

There was a moment of silence and Sam couldn't help but suck in a breath. "No actually, it's Dean." He quietly started, eyeing the map that was open on the screen in front of him. "I didn't get all the details but he was working a case and he killed a Shapeshifter that was walking around as a Sherriff... now he's got the cops on his tail. We spoke on the phone but I have no idea where he is, he mentioned a town call Scythe but I don't know which way he was heading." Sam paused for only a moment as he felt the breath catch in the back of his throat, the scenario playing out in the back of his mind was making him choke on his words. "I don't know what to do Bobby, I don't even know where he is. I tired calling Dad but he won't pick up the phone."

"All right, just calm down." The older man started, his gaze drifting over to the police scanner nearby. Though he'd been following the story as it unfolded, he didn't have any reason to think it was anything he should be concerned about. Until now. "Scythe isn't too far from here and I've been listening to my scanner all night, I think I might know where your brother is. Nothing much ever happens around here, so this car chase I'm hearing about over the line has got to be him."

Sam swore under his breath as he leaned back in his chair. "What the Hell are we supposed to do?" He asked, the despair coming out in the tone of his voice.

"There's nothing we can do, kid." Bobby calmly replied. "We're not talking about monsters we can hunt down here, we're talking about the law. I hate to say it I really do but we can't help him out of this one." He explained, the silence on the other end of the line just as eerie as the voices coming in over the police scanner sitting atop his cluttered desk. "Get some sleep and first thing tomorrow morning, you get your ass over..."

"Bobby, I don't think Dean has until morning." Sam interrupted as he swallowed the lump that was caught in his throat. "They're going to set up a roadblock or toss a spike belt out in front of him."

"Yeah I know that but there's nothing we can do about it." Bobby replied. "I know you're worried about him but Dean's a good hunter..."

"He might be a good hunter but he's far from being a good civilian." Sam once again cut in, instantly silencing the other man.

There was a moment of silence and Bobby couldn't help but let out a sigh, he wasn't talking to the kid he remembered anymore he was talking to a young man. "Sam, this is his mess and he's the one that's going to have to deal with it. We can't do anything to help him out right now, so like it or not, we're just going to have to sit back and see how this plays out. I'll keep tabs on the situation, hopefully he turns himself him. You get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

Though Sam was reluctant to agree, he knew Bobby was right. There really wasn't anything they could do at that point to help his older brother. "All right, I'll be there as soon as I can. See you in the morning."


"See you then." Bobby replied before hanging up the phone and turning his attention to the police scanner on his desk. "Damn it John, where the hell are you now." He muttered under his breath as he reached over to turn the volume up. "Unit 5-2 do you have a visual yet?" The dispatcher asked, her monotone voice echoing in the room. "Negative, no sign of the car yet but we're ready and waiting at the end of RR5." Came the simple reply. "Unit 7-4 are you still in pursuit of the suspect?" The dispatcher continued, every little bit of information helping Bobby paint the scene. "Still in pursuit but I've lost sight... wait, there's a washout up ahead..." There was a moment of silence and Bobby felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach, now he was listening from the very edge of his seat. "There's a twenty foot section of road missing; I'm going to need backup to search the river banks, there's no way he could have jumped it." Swearing under his breath, Bobby hit record on his old tape deck and got up from his seat, mentally mapping out every back road leaving from Scythe as he headed upstairs to get changed. He had to get down there, he had to see it for himself if only to rule out the possibility that it involved Dean.

The drive out to Scythe was long but not nearly as long as the drive down RR5 would prove to be. With the rain pounding hard against his windshield, all he could think about was the car chase that had preceded him down that long winding road. He could hardly see more than a few yards in front of him, he couldn't imagine what Dean had faced traveling down that same road at what he could only assume was double, if not triple the posted speed limit. When he finally did pull up to the scene, the very first thing he noticed was the amount of police cars. There were two cars on his side and half a dozen on the other side of the gaping hole. He grabbed an umbrella from the seat beside him and stepped out of his truck, doing his best to keep a professional front as he approached one of the many officers on the scene. He pulled out a badge as the officer turned to face him, their eyes meeting for only a moment before his drifted off to the washed out road and the yellow police tape that was beating in the wind. "I got a call about a high speed pursuit." He started with a certain authority in his voice. "Mind telling me what happened?"

The officer offered a nod, the rain pouring off the brim of his hat as he took a glance over his shoulder at his patrol car. "I got dispatched to a bar in Scythe, someone spotted a man matching the description of a suspect we were looking for."

"Did you get a good look at him? Can you describe him to me?"

"Caucasian male, early to mid twenties with a fit build. Light brown hair, torn jeans and a long brown leather coat. I pulled up to the bar as he was getting into his car, a black four door, late '60 model Chevrolet."

Bobby swallowed hard as the other man's words circled in the back of his mind, the officer had pretty much just described Dean. "Was there a confrontation?"

"I told him to stop and put his hands up where I could see them but he ignored my orders, so I opened fire."

"You're telling me that you discharged your weapon in a crowded parking lot, because a man who fit the description of a suspect you were looking for, refused to acknowledge your orders?" Bobby cut in, his eyes now narrowing on the man in uniform standing there in front of him.

"I was told the suspect was armed and dangerous." The officer defended. "I fired three shots, his car wasn't in a crowded area and there were no risks for any stray bullets. The first bullet grazed him, the other two hit the car as he sped off. I followed him for miles then lost sight of him. After another mile or two, I came across the washout and called it in." Bobby's eyes drifted over as the man pointed towards his colleagues in the background, through the wall of rain and the glow of blue and red lights, he could see them searching the fast moving water with their spotlights for any sign of the car or their suspect. "We've got officers scouring the riverbanks searching for him, but at the speeds he was traveling..."

"How fast were you going?" Bobby asked, pausing for only a moment as lightning lit up the night sky and thunder drowned them out.

"I backed off when speeds reached 70mph. The guy was driving like a maniac. At those speeds in these conditions, I'm surprised he didn't take the ditch." The officer started, wiping the rain from his eyes as he turned slightly to face the gaping hole in the road. "We don't have the slightest chance of finding that car until this storm passes and the water drops significantly." He continued. "We'll search the riverbanks throughout the night, but I don't honestly think he made it."

"Do me a favor son" Bobby started, reaching into his overcoat pocket and pulling out a business card. "Give me a call if you find anything."

"Yeah, sure thing Detective." The officer replied as he tucked the card away.

Bobby offered a nod as he walked back to his truck, the young hunter's fate the only thing on his mind as he listened to the sound of rushing water. Folding the umbrella, he climbed in behind the wheel and watched through the rain streaming down his windshield as police on both sides of the road searched through the storm. The red & blue glow of lights reflecting off of each and every rain drop was both eerily dreadful and beautiful at the same time. He sucked in a breath as he reached for his phone, punching down the number of a man who's intentions were almost always misunderstood. "Pick up the damn phone John, it's Bobby. Your boys could really use your help right now." He growled before flipping the phone shut. Though the man loved his kids, it wasn't the kind of love the pair needed and more than once had Bobby questioned the choices the man had made for his sons. He'd watched the pair on and off over the years and it was in the little things they said and did that made him think the boys had grown up much too fast. Flipping his phone open once again, he punched down Sam's number. He didn't have to wait long for the other line to pick up. "I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"Have you heard from him?" Sam asked.

"No I haven't." Bobby calmly started. "But the police chase is over, the cop that was trailing him thinks your brother might have hit a washout. They're searching the riverbanks but it's still coming down pretty hard over here, they haven't found him or the car yet."

Sam's heart his the bottom of his stomach, the outcome was something he never could have imagined. "Maybe it wasn't him."

"Sam, the description I got makes it hard for it to have been anyone else but him." Bobby was quick to reply. "If they find something they'll let me know, but until that water level drops off..." He paused for only a moment as he swallowed the lump that was caught in his own throat. "Just get some sleep and I'll see ya in the morning." He said before hanging up and leaning back in his seat, listening to the pounding rain as he tried to keep what little shred of hope he still had left.


When Dean finally regained consciousness, the only thing he could hear was the heavy rain pounding against his car. Inside his throbbing head however, it sounded more like a freight train than it did of a summer storm. Gone were the flashing lights in his rearview mirror and the howl of blaring police sirens had been replaced by the sound of water dripping through the cracks in his windshield. The sharp burning pain in his right side was still there, but it was now shadowed by the pain of each and every breath.

"Son of a bitch." He groaned to himself, putting a bloody hand out onto the dashboard to push himself off the steering wheel that was pressed to his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, trying to collect his scattered thoughts and focus on the events that had left him in his current situation. He killed a Shapeshifter, he'd been shot, the police were on his tail, the road was dark, it was raining hard and he took the corner way too fast. The punches just seemed to keep coming and his hellish night was now starting to drag on. Leaning back into his seat, he sucked in a ragged breath, pressing his hand to the open wound and cringing as he felt the pain spread like a wildfire. Though the bullet had simply grazed him, he knew he was in need of medical attention, he could already feel the affects of the blood he'd lost and the force of the impact hadn't helped.

He didn't have the slightest idea where he was, what road he'd been on or even where he was heading, but as the Impala careened down the embankment into the woods something in the darkness had caught his eye. Between the trees that seemed to be swarming him from all sides, he'd seen the flash of his headlight bounce off something up ahead of him. In his racing train of thoughts right before he came face to face with the tree that stopped him in his tracks, he could have sworn he'd seen the light reflect off the window of a house. Grabbing the keys from the ignition Dean opened the door and stumbled out of his car, falling to his hands and knees the moment he stepped out. His head was spinning and every breath he took was pulling at his battered body; hunched over on the forest floor in the pouring rain, he stayed for a moment just trying to gain his bearings, trying to overcome the weakness he felt creeping up on him. Swallowing hard, he dragged himself up against the car and shut the door, tracing her curves in the dark to make his way towards the trunk. His right leg was killing him, pulsing in rhythm with each heartbeat as he put his weight on it to take a step. It wasn't broken and he could still walk but he knew something was definitely wrong. With the rain pounding hard against him he was cold and soaked to the bone in a matter of only seconds. He opened the trunk and grabbed his flashlight, shoving a few things he thought he might need into his duffle bag; his handgun, a bottle of whisky, his sharpest silver blade and a well stocked first aid kit. Flashlight in hand, he tossed his duffle over his shoulder and started walking back around the Impala, pausing for a moment as he reached the front of the car. It was bad but he knew he'd been lucky. At the speeds he was traveling, it could have been much worse for both him and his car. "Aw Baby I'm sorry." He whispered, using the beam of his flashlight to survey the damage. The bumper had taken the brunt of the impact but the force of it had been enough to shatter the windshield. "Don't you worry I'll get you fixed up in no time." He continued, glancing back up the embankment towards the roadway he'd left, before turning his attention to the darkness in front of him. Thunder growled overhead as he slowly made his way towards the reflection he thought he saw in the broken glass of a rundown shack in the woods. Using his flashlight to light the way, he breathed a sigh of relief when he came across the old homestead. It had seen much better days, but anything was better than standing there in the pouring rain.

Though he knew he wouldn't be able to see her in the darkness, Dean took a look back at where he'd left the Impala before climbing up the front steps of the house, pausing at the doorway before stepping inside. It was a one-room shack and the place was a mess. The door was on the floor, an old table, chairs and a wood stove stood off to one side, while a kitchen stood to the other and what he could only assume had been a bed was collapsed against the back wall. He and Sam had crashed in some pretty nasty places growing up, but this was by far the worse. Dropping his duffle on the table, he grabbed one of the chairs and made his way to the stove; using the old brittle wood to start a fire and grabbing a handful of debris from the floor to stoke the flames. With a fire going, at least he'd be able to keep warm and dry his clothes he thought to himself as he made his way to the table, eyeing an old lantern that stood among the clutter of random dishes. Though it was covered in a thick layer of dust, it was still filled with Kerosene and the moment he brought his lighter to the wick, it lit up the room in it's warm glow. He set his flashlight aside and took another look at the room around him, it looked better in the dark. Grabbing one of the chairs nearby and pulling it up, he carefully shed his leather jacket and set it aside to drip dry.

He sucked in a breath as he took a seat on the dust covered floor, placing the lantern next to him and for the first time, getting a good look at the bullet wound in his left side. He was lucky and he knew it, that cop could have easily killed him. And though he was armed himself, taking a shot on an officer of the law just trying to do his job was something he couldn't do. He knew better than that. They were from two very different worlds and he always did the best he could to stay off their radar. The law wouldn't understand what he does for a living, that was one of the first lessons his father had taught him. Dean winced in pain as he took his shirt off and wrung it out in his hands, watching as the water pooled on the floor in front of him for only a moment before soaking into the wood.

Cold and soaked to the bone, he used his shirt to wipe away the blood that covered his side, careful not to drag it across the open wound. He wouldn't be able to do much tonight with the supplies that he had, but at least he would be able to stop the bleeding. He grabbed a knife from his bag and placed its blade on the stove top as he prepared what he needed to close up the gash. It was something he'd done before, but patching himself up wasn't an easy or pleasant thing to do, it was just something that needed to be done. At least he didn't have to go digging for the bullet this time.

He sucked in a breath as he grabbed the knife from the stove, feeling the heat radiate from the sharp blade as he pressed it flat against his skin to cauterize the wound. The searing pain was almost too much for him to bare; the smell, the feel, the heat... His eyes were tearing up and his heart was starting to race as his body instantly reacted to the pain he'd just inflicted upon himself. Though he had the blade pressed against the wound for only a few seconds, that moment had dragged and when he finally did pull away, the cool air against his skin was almost as painful as the heat had been. He swallowed hard, doing his best to deal with it, just like he always did. "Good times..." He muttered to himself as he set the blade on the floor beside him and reached for the bottle of whisky. He took a swig to numb himself, letting the fiery taste distract him as he poured some of the alcohol on one of the bandages and pressed it up to the wound. Tonight was just one of those nights where the hunt had gotten away from him and the civilians he was trying to save, had only gotten in his way. Nights like these often made him question what he was doing with his life and what he was doing it for. Sam might have turned his back on family but at least Sam had a home, a future and somewhere he belonged. He on the other hand, well he was the one sitting on the cold dirty floor of a rundown shack, living off theft & fraud with absolutely nothing to his name but the knowledge that his life would never reach beyond what little he had, because that's where he belonged... there in the shadow of better men.

Dean took another gulp of whisky as he finished dressing the wound, the destructive thoughts of self worth and doubt now circling in his head. At twenty four he was supposed to be a man, ready and capable of taking care of himself and whatever troubles came his way. Pushing it all aside, he draped his shirt over a chair by the stove to dry and grabbed his flashlight from the table to take another look around. There really wasn't much to the cabin he was in and it didn't seem to matter where he would lie down for the night, because the floor would be just as dirty, cold and uncomfortable anywhere he chose to make his bed. So eyeing a spot on the floor in the far corner by the stove, Dean flipped the table onto its side and dragged it over in hopes that it would divert the cool draft coming in through the doorway and keep some of the stove's heat isolated in his corner.

Grabbing his leather coat from one of the chairs, he shut the lantern off and watched as the flame burned itself out, the tiny flame vanishing along with its light. If he would be stuck there for more than a night, he would need to preserve the little Kerosene he had left. With the stove stocked to its capacity, Dean cleared debris from the floor before kicking off his dirty boots and finally laying himself down for the night, his leather coat serving as a blanket and his only real comfort. He could hear the thunder growling overhead, the rain was still pounding hard against the roof and water still trickling in through the many cracks and crevices in the well aged structure. The sound of water hitting the floor he was lying on was almost as rhythmic as the crackling of sparks in the stove and in no time, his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.