Welcome back followers! I kind of lied when I said the following chapters wouldn't be so long. Kind of. Attempting to fit a bunch of dialogue and monster slaying in so many words is hard when you really want to retain the necessary details of your tale. Anyway, it's not as bad as it looks; a lot of the length of this chapter is due to dialogue spacing, so it's really not that long.
As far as updates go, I am going to put forth the effort to make it somewhat regular/frequent. There are only so many hours in a day I can stare at a screen though, and even less now that I find myself (more) easily nauseated by things like computer screens and words and such. I might need reading glasses. It's probably because I'm knocked up though (although I believe I'm technically just pregnant, not knocked up, since this happened on purpose).
TMI.
Let's check in on what Ben and Dean are up to.

Millville, New Jersey

My fingers fiddle with the radio dial on the dash of my '88 Ford pick up, flashing between static, terrible pop, country, and more static. And old pop song comes on from my high school days and I cringe as a female singer croons something about the "eye of the tiger".

"I can't believe she got away with those lyrics," I mutter to myself. "Everyone knows Survivor owns that shit. That's, like, rock and roll blasphemy."

The dial finds more static and rolls past a hip hop tune before it finds classic rock. Santana reaches my ears in the form of Oye Como Va and I bob my head as my fingers reach for the volume knob and crack it up a few notches. More than satisfied with the tunes, I return my focus to the dark lot before me, casually sipping cola from my big red plastic cup.

So far this case is kind of similar to the last one. That is, to say, the way we're doing things is similar. Apparently Dean wasn't completely satisfied with the last test he gave me and we've been doing everything according to what I would do. Dean asks me what we're doing, where we're going, and every time I supply him with an answer, he nods his head and takes a swig from the silver flask that never seems to run empty until he offers me a sip.

The actual case itself is a lot different than the last one. First of all, it's taking us longer to crack the case open. We've been in the state for three days now. Second, our vengeful spirit turned out to be a pissed off revenant. It was the discovery of the undead that lead us here.

"Here" being the closest funeral parlor. I'm the watchman and the getaway driver. My post is my idling piece of crap truck sitting in the back lot as I keep a lookout for cops. Dean, he's inside the parlor, attempting to lift a coffin. The revenant we're dealing with was smart enough to destroy his own casket, which means he's not going to be an easy one to take down.

I'm personally excited I finally get to see some action and really show off my skills.

An unexpected and sudden "bang!" emits from the flatbed behind me. I almost spill my soda when Dean pulls the passenger door open and quickly slides inside only seconds later.

"I don't know what's louder," he grumbles as he gets in. "Your truck or your music."

"Sorry," I apologize, glancing back to find a maple wood casket laying in the flatbed. "It's the muffler."

"From the sounds of it, the muffler is the least of your worries," Dean says, shifting his eye about the empty lot. "Lets just get out of here before anyone notices."

I do as I'm instructed and slowly pull away from the funeral parlor and into traffic.

"How are we going to lure this thing in there, anyway?" I question.

"I don't know," Dean shrugs as he digs his flask out from his inner jacket pocket. "This was your idea. You got wooden stakes, right?"

"Yeah," I nod. "A couple."

Dean just nods before taking a long, hard drink from his flask. Most of the ride back to our motel is made in silence, save for the songs of classic rock gods that serenade us through fuzzy speakers. It's when we've come within a half mile of our destination I finally work up the courage to ask him a question, the one that's really been nagging me since we hit New Jersey.

"So, New Jersey," I pretend to make casual conversation. "You, uh, you do a lot of hunting out here?"

"If it's about my eye," Dean knows exactly what I'm trying to ask. "Yes, I lost it in New Jersey."

"So, you really took down the Jersey Devil?" I ask with an air of awe in my voice. Dean lets out a short, soft snort before taking another quick sip of whiskey.

"I hate to break it to you," he begins as he twists the cap back onto his flask and carefully tucks it away. "But there's no such thing as the Jersey Devil."

"Oh," I say with a breath of disappointment. "What, um, what was it?"

"A griffin," he tells me, his eyes focused on the road before us as he speaks. My jaw drops.

"No way," is all I can say.

"Way," he returns with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You tackled a griffin by yourself?" I ask in disbelief, unable to hide the excitement in my tone as I visualize Dean, the mortal warrior, going head to head with the Greek beast of ancient myth. "That's badass!"

"Yeah," Dean rolls his remaining eye, laying the sarcasm on thick this time. "Looking like a pirate is totally badass."

"I was going to say you look more like Nick Furry," I tell him as I pull into our motel parking lot and he grunts but says nothing.

We climb out of my truck and I've made it as far as my room door when Dean loudly clears his throat. I snap my gaze up at him and notice he's still standing beside my truck.

"You're just gonna leave a coffin sitting out in the open then?" he questions. I can feel my cheeks grow mildly warm and I know they're flushing from embarrassment.

"Right," I mutter as I hurry past him and scramble into my flatbed to pull a blue tarp over our stolen casket. It was bound to happen, me screwing up in Dean's presence. I just hope this is the only thing I screw up. I'd hate to be the cause of Dean loosing a limb or an organ to go along with his missing eye. Or, you know, getting my own intestines ripped out. I guess that would be pretty bad too.

Revenants are a lot more rare than angry spirits. They're even more rare than demons, which is a fact I find both comforting and chilling. I've personally never dealt with one and, because of this, I don't really know a lot about them. Dean lets me know he knows this when he hands me two old, leather bound journals and says, "you kill a revenant with silver stakes, not wood" and tells me to study up. I spend a good part of the evening going between the journals of John Winchester and Robert Singer, the internet, and slow texts with Garth while Dean silently sips cheap beer and watches reruns of shows that aired before I was even born.

"My brain is going to explode," I speak up somewhere close to 3 am, running a hand down my face in exhaustion.

"That's a good sign," Dean says, muting the TV and turning his attention to me. "What have we learned?"

"According to the internet," I slowly begin, furiously blinking in an attempt to wet my otherwise severely dry eyeballs. "To kill a revenant, you have to cut out its heart. Or burn it. According to the journals and Garth, you have to nail it into a coffin with a silver stake. Personally, I trust three veteran hunters over Wikipedia, but that's just because I'm smart."

Dean gives me a small, short smile.

"What else?" he presses.

"Revenants only come out at night," I go on, stretching my arms as I stifle a yawn. "Most vampire lore comes from revenants, like the whole allergy to sunlight. They terrorize the living, usually surviving family and friends, and to become a revenant, the reanimated corpse had to have been a pretty big bag of dicks when they were alive."

Dean nods, slowly rising from his seat on the foot of the bed. He polishes off his beer and lets loose a short belch.

"Alright," he says, satisfied with what I've learned about the rare form of undead. "Let's go."

"What?" I stare at him through tired eyes. "Right now?"

"Yeah," Dean says, the expression on his face indicating this should be obvious. "We've only got a few more hours till sunup. You wanna stick around Jersey for another day or you wanna go kill a revenant?"

"Kill a revenant, I guess," I reply, slowly rising from my spot at the motel desk. I close my computer and attempt to cover a yawn before grabbing my army green jacket from the back of the chair.

"Any ideas on how we're going to lure it into the casket?" I ask, throwing my jacket around my shoulders.

"I don't know," he shrugs as he opens the door. "Whattcha got?"

"Um..." I stare blankly at the aging hunter who gives me an expectant, I'm waiting look. "I, uh, I haven't come up with anything."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," he tells me with a mild air of confidence. "You're driving."

xXxXxXx

Note to self: next time someone tells you to go find a revenant, figure out where said revenant might hang out before you spend 20 minuets aimlessly driving around an unfamiliar city lost between thoughts on how to shove the vampire cousin into a casket and nervously blathering on about how, this one time, near an abandoned band camp, you raided this nest with your hunter friend Netta but it turned out to be a Twilight cosplay thing and holy crap you should have seen all the glitter.

That's a true story, by the way.

But not a good time to share it.

"Great story," Dean tells me, his eye on the darkened streets that stretch out before us. "Really. Quick question thought; where are we?"

My foot swiftly finds the brake and it suddenly occurs to me that I have absolutely no clue where we are or where we're going.

"Damn it," I mutter, mortified by my second mistake of the night. Hesitantly I glance over at Dean who calmly pulls a crumpled piece of computer paper out of his jeans pocket. He unfolds it before he passes it to me. Map Quest directions.

He silently waits for me to figure out where we are and where the revenant sightings have been. It doesn't take me long to discover I've taken us to the wrong side of the city.

"You could have told me," I grumble as I slowly make a u-turn.

"I just did," Dean points out and I roll my eyes.

For a while we ride in silence as I steer my truck in the right direction, glancing between the black and white map in my lap and street signs. There are still so many things I want to ask him, yet I'm still hesitant. At first it was because I didn't want to seem like a fanboy, but now I can't tell if it's because he doesn't seem interested in sharing or if I suddenly find myself clinging to the legends as they are.

"Can I ask you a question?" I finally break the quietude, deciding I really do want to know the truth.

"Why not?" Dean returns as he digs out his flask.

"Your angel friend, Castiel," I begin. "Is he still around?"

I've never met an angel before and the prospect is intriguing to me.

"If I was hanging out with angels, do you think I'd be walking around looking like Nick Furry?" Dean responds to my question with another question. He makes a valid point, one I didn't really consider. I silently nod and watch him take a long sip from his flask.

"What happened to him?" I have to know. Dean remains silent for a moment, leaving me guessing whether or not he's going to reply.

"What eventually happens to everyone," he reveals at last. "Park right here. You got binoculars?"

I motion to my glove box as I ease my piece of crap truck to a halt along the curbside and kill the engine.

"So, he's dead?" I press as Dean brings forth my cheap pair of binoculars and lifts them to his eye. I resist the urge to offer to man the viewing spectacles since I have both eyes, but I think better of it and keep my mouth shut.

"Yep," Dean distantly replies, looking out over the neighborhood for signs of our monster de jour.

"How'd he go?" I ask, something Dean doesn't respond to.

"You come up with any ideas on how we're gonna get this sucker in the coffin?" is what he says instead, signaling he's done talking about his deceased friend.

"Um..." I fumble. "I was thinking our best shot would be to incapacitate him somehow. Maybe with explosives?"

Dean jerks the binoculars away from his face as his brows crease and he gives me that "are you serious?" look.

"You want to blow up a revenant in a residential neighborhood?" he attempts to clarify my brain storm. Hearing the plan out loud does make it sound kind of ridiculous.

"Wood chipper?" I suggest and Dean rolls his eye. "No, wait, I got it," I quickly add, attempting to recover my terrible ideas. "What if we cut his head off? I know it won't kill him, but it'll stop him long enough for us to lift him in the casket and nail him down."

"That sounds a little more practical," Dean confirms as he returns his gaze to his neighborhood watch. "You got a blade handy?"

I nod as I reach for the machete I keep between the driver and passenger's seats.

"Good," Dean says, pointing down the street. "Cause we got company."

My stomach jumps into my throat as I nervously gulp. It's not tangling with the undead that makes me anxious, but the fact I can finally prove to my idol that I'm a capable (and badass) hunter.

Don't screw it up, Ben, I keep muttering to myself as I climb out of the truck and slowly make my way into the street, my machete gripped tightly in my right hand. Do this like the pro you are.

I walk into the center of the darkened street, stopping somewhere between street lights. The revenant, who stands a half block away, stares me down. This continues for a minute or two as we each await the other to make a move and start this battle. It's the revenant who decides to come at me, making tracks at a pace somewhere between a walk and a jog. I ready myself for him, drawing my blade back with both hands as if I were holding a bat and the monster was the approaching baseball.

The revenant lets out a loud, angry hiss when he's a couple of houses away. My stomach lurches with excitement. I finally get to show Dean what I'm made of. I finally get to prove I'm in the right field...

A gunshot rings out from behind me and the revenant screams in pain as his left knee buckles. A second shot emits and the monster crumples to the asphalt in a fit of rage filled pain. My jaw drops in disbelief as I turn on a swift heel and stare at my idol, who casually holds a silver pistol in his right hand.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks me, motioning towards the downed monster with his gun. "Go chop the damn thing's head off."

"I had him!" I insist angrily in a voice a few notches above a whisper, despite the fact the gun probably gave us up.

"There's not a single monster on this planet who's dumb enough to charge himself into a freaking machete," Dean tells me as he carefully places his firearm back in the inner pocket of his jacket. "He would have had you on the ground before you could have given him so much as a scratch. Now go cut his head off before he can stand up." He pauses to take a sip from his flask. "And before the cops get here."

I grumble inaudibly to myself, beyond disappointed by my inability to show Dean how awesome I am at the job. I do as I'm told, taking the monster's head off with a clean, downward swing as I think about how I'm kind of pissed at Dean too. He could have let me duke it out with the thing, but he had to go and show me up before the revenant even came within striking range.

Dean helps me gather the remains and we manage to shove everything inside the satin lined casket and stake it down with silver in under five minuets. Thirty minuets later, we've gathered our things from the motel and we're making tracks out of town, Dean leading the way on his Harley. By the time the sun's come up, we've got the thing buried as deep as possible in a cluster of trees just beyond the highway.

Now that the sun is up and the birds are chirping happily in a bright, blue sky, I'm ready for a nap. But Dean's still got plenty of energy left.

"Why don't you follow me for a few states," he half suggests, half orders as he wipes dirt from his fingers onto his jeans.

So I do, partially because I'm too tired to argue, but also because, at the moment, I've got nothing better to be doing. Other than catching up on some shut eye.

While I tail Dean (close, but not too close, just as he instructed me), I decide I'm not too mad at him. While I would have appreciated him just telling me what I needed to know or how to cripple a revenant the easy way, I can kind of see what his goal was. He wanted me to learn the hard way, because when you learn something the hard way, it has a tendency to stick around in your brain better. I know I'm not forgetting that lesson for a while.

We travel north west for the duration of the day, stopping only for gas and coffee as needed. At long last, a good hour or so after sundown, Dean leads me to a quiet storage facility near the Ohio/Indiana boarder. At this point, I'm so tired and hungry, I don't really care what we're doing here.

That is, until Dean opens one of the lockers.

"Damn," I whistle, inviting myself into the spacious unit which is mostly empty, save for the jet black 1967 Chevy Impala in near mint condition. "That's a sweet ride."

"That it is," Dean proudly nods in agreement as he unscrews the cap on his silver flask and takes a quick sip. "Runs better than that heap you drive." He pauses to take another sip of whiskey, glancing between me and the Impala as he does so. "What do you say we retire that hunk'a junk out there?"

For a minute, I don't say anything. I blink up at Dean with wide eyes.

"You're... you're not giving me this?" I begin, somewhat uncertain as to what he's getting at.

"What?" Dean wrinkles his brows. "No. Of course not."

"Are you asking me to ride with you?" I ask, my pulse rising in an excitement I can barely contain.

"Yeah," he replies, giving me that "no duh" look as he caps his container and places back in his pocket. "You up for it?"

"Am I up for it?" I echo, attempting not to sound too much like a giddy school girl. "Am I up for it? Are you freaking kidding me?"

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean mutters to himself with a small, almost undetectable smile.

Is this really happening? Is this real life? Am I seriously about to actually hit the road with the Dean Winchester?

"Does this make us official hunting partners?" I ask with a wide grin and Dean rolls his green eye at me.

"Just load up, huh?" he says. "I wanna get some grub before we hit the road again."

"Aye, aye, captain!" I say with a salute and a smile. Dean's brows fold in a complete lack of amusement.

"You say that again," he warns, "and I'll officially kick your ass."

Like that's gonna wipe the smirk off my face. Nothing short of Apocalypse 2.0 is going to be able to accomplish that for at least a week.

What's next for Ben and Dean? How long will Ben's excitement last? Will Dean ever warm up to his new partner? And where the ever-lovin' hell is Sam? Stay tuned and you just might find out! And don't forget to review! They keep me alive!