"Shut up, kid." Dean told the sophomore in the backseat.

Trying to squirm into a more upright position, the third passenger of the Impala was anything but quiet, "Let me go!" The band student continued to protest, "I don't care if you are federal agents! Let me go!" he yelled, "You can't keep me here without my consent!"

The patched pavement gave way to gravel beneath the car's wheels, "Do us all a favor and be quiet." Dean growled as the Impala sped even further into the sparse housing and farming region that laid south of DeSoto.

"Not until you let me go!"

"Sam, do something." Dean's nose was flared, signaling a lack of patience, "He does not seem to understand that we are trying to help him."

Intending to gag the annoyance with a rag, Sam turned around in the seat to search for the duffel bags in the backseat. Not seeing them, he looked back to Dean as Logan continued to throw a fit in the background. "Dean, where'd you put the duffels?"

"I didn't put the bags anywhere." Dean answered, "You were supposed to grab them."

"No I wasn't." Sam responded with attitude expected from a teenage drama queen.

"Well, great Sammy." Dean gritted his teeth and pressed down on the gas, forcing the Impala to go even faster yet, "Now we have no werewolf-killing weapons."

"Werewolf-killing weapons?" Logan piped up, confused.

"Not now, Logan." The brothers shut him down simultaneously.

"I cannot believe you." Dean told his younger brother, "How hard is it to grab two duffels?" he wrapped his hands around the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Sam snorted, "This is your fault! You're the one who was so captivated by hearing the band play REM or whatever it was!"

"It was Rush and it was your turn to carry the bags!" the brothers stared each other down and proceeded to ride in an angry silence.

Logan took advantage of the pair's feud to ask, "Can I go now?"

"No!" they answered before sinking back into their heated silence. If that band decided to give chase, neither brother pictured a pretty ending. Against a pack that size without weapons, they were toast, with oozing strawberry-red jelly.

The contents of the Hunters' duffels had been dumped onto a table about six feet from the map table into the musty barn. The silver weaponry, holy water jugs and salt canisters indicated the pair had been ready for just about anything short of the apocalypse. The knives and silver coated bullets were the tools of a professional Hunter, to the band's dismay the duo seemed to know what they were doing. The sheer amount of munitions that had been emptied from the bags covered nearly the entire plastic picnic table, "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if this was every piece of werewolf-killing material those Hunters had." Alejandro said, looking at the table. A few of the present section leaders nodded thoughtfully, waiting for the drum majors to reveal the search and rescue plan. The rest of the band sat in the front part of the barn talking or playing assorted games. Whispers and the occasional bout of laughter from the group playing Apples to Apples drifted in the direction of the leadership team. A louder set of giggles caused the section leaders to look towards the faction playing an intense game of Twister. The red-headed mellophone player named Colton was locked in an awkward position still wearing his ballerina Cat Woman costume. His only Twister competitor still on the mat was dressed in a clearly homemade Superman costume while the stubborn pair was refed by Gilbert in a full-on Jedi outfit. A shift in the Superman's position caused Colton to hiss.

The four drum majors stood around the map table in quiet discussion. On occasion, one would point intently to a location on the map, leading to a continuation of the debate. Back at the table covered in Hunter weaponry a tuft of hay fell onto the center of the weapons. The section leaders looked up, trying to locate the cause of the falling hay.

The barn's owner, moving about in the loft seemed to notice he'd accidentally sent some hay tumbling down into the barn's busy lower levels and paused looking down, "Sorry about that fellas!" he called.

"It's not a problem!" Alejandro responded, squinting up at the farmer, "What are you doing up there Seňor Zimmerman?"

The farmer continued to pitch hay out the loft window into a waiting truck bed, "I'm working on cleaning out the loft so y'all can use it if you need to."

"That'll be great!" the alto saxophone leader called up, they didn't necessarily need the extra space, but it'd be nice to have, "Thanks again for letting us use your old barn!"

"Think nothing of it!" the farmer answered, "I use the new one now, and I owe y'all for taking care of that possessed donkey earlier this year, and let's not forget that crossroads demon!" the farmer smiled happily down, "Besides I told y'all you could use it as much as you wanted if you got rid of that pesky ghost!" The agreement had been struck between the land owner and band a few years back when the band had started to be unable to have meetings in the band room thanks in part to the pesky half-Norwegian and the fact that 160+ people didn't fit well in the smallish room with instruments. The band helped the farmer out with his frequent supernatural issues and they got to use the barn.

The farmer went back to work and accidentally flung another chunk of hay to fall from the barn's upper loft. This time the yellow straw landed on top of the duo still continuing their intense game of Twister, causing the Superman to sneeze and fall taking Cat Woman dressed Colton with him into a heap of undoubtedly sprained limbs.

At long last, the drum majors broke up their discussion and approached the other table, gaining the full attention of the section leaders. "Alright guys," Alice said in a tone that warned the others not to interrupt, "We're putting the hunt for the werewolves on hold until we recover Logan. He may be a trumpet and he may be a transfer student, but that does not mean we are going to leave him to the Hunters' whims."

Alejandro tried not to look to hurt at the constant bashing of his section as Marissa took over the briefing, "Luckily, the city of DeSoto's only traffic camera managed to catch video of a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala with a Kansas KAZ 2Y5 license plate heading south out of town, which narrows our search range considerably." No one asked how they had managed to get access to the city's only traffic camera, chances were it had probably been in exchange for another favor or done illegally with help from the computer geeks.

"We'll divide up into sections and search for them. Once you find the Hunters, do not approach. Call it in on your radio and wait for at least two more groups before attempting a rescue." Jaycee and Eric pulled out the heavy-duty radios and passed them out to the section leaders as Alice continued, "Now most roads south of town are dead ends, so they've probably holed up somewhere, check the empty buildings."

Marissa proceeded to give out assignments, "Clarinets and Alto Saxes, you're in charge of Lexington Avenue, if they're on that road or one of its branches, find them." Those two leaders excused themselves and collected their sections, "Tenor Saxes, Tubas, Mellos and Bari Saxes, you've got Waverly. Trumpets, Trombones and Baritones, take Kill Creek road. Flutes, keep a lookout on the Corliss bridge. Eric, Marissa and Jaycee will be joining the hunt on Kill Creek. I will stay here and manage the search, so be sure to report in what areas your sections check."

The band divided up after a haphazard Kickass cheer and soon the various sections were just red taillights in the night time distance.

A/N: In case you are wondering, updates for this story are fairly irregular. It can be a week or two before an update or a matter of hours, depending on how much free-time I have. I typically post the chapters pretty quick after I finish them.