A/N: This is my first share of a fanfic. I'm hoping for some reviews with suggestions and critiques. I'm trying to publish a chapter a month, give or take. I just wanted to take the boys to an area I really love and enjoy visiting. And I wanted them to have a little bit of adventure along the way. Thanks for reading!
Blood and Rain
Prologue
They met outside of the old lumber mill before hitting the road. Sam and Dean leaned against the Impala and Bobby against his Chevelle. The sun was warm and Dean felt good, even better when he pulled beers from the cooler. Bobby waved him off, but Sam took one.
"So, you guys road-hauled a ghost with a chain?" His beer was perfectly chilled and the first slug felt awesome sliding down his throat.
"Iron chain," Sam motioned to Bobby, "etched with spell work. It's what he was most afraid of." He shrugged, "It was pretty brutal, though."
Bobby nodded in agreement.
"On the upside, I'm still alive," Dean raised his beer in salute, "so, uh, go team."
Sam chuckled. "How ya feeling by the way?"
"Fine."
"Ya sure Dean?" Bobby's voice was mock serious. "Cause this line of work can get awfully scary."
Dean stared the older hunter down. "I'm fine! You wanna go hunt? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything."
Sam's face split into a wide grin, "aaaaawwwww..."
"He's adorable." Bobby joined Sam's laughter.
"Whatever." Dean turned away and took another slug of his beer.
"I gotta get out of here," Bobby walked around the back of the Chevelle, "you boys drive safe."
"You, too, Bobby," Sam replied, " and thanks."
Bobby waved at the boys over the roof of the Chevelle as he slid behind the wheel.
Once the Chevelle was out of sight, Sam turned to Dean, "So, uh, what did you see? Near the end, I mean."
"What? Besides a cop beatin' my ass?"
"Seriously."
Dean looked up at his brother and saw yellow flash in his eyes. He hesitated, rolling his lower lip over his teeth. "Howler monkeys. Whole room full of 'em. Those things creep the hell out of me."
Sam sighed, "Right." Then took a swallow of beer to hide his disbelief.
"Nah, just the usual stuff, Sammy," Dean continued. "Nothin' I couldn't handle."
Chapter 1
Dean Winchester woke in a saggy bed, in the ground floor room of the Bluebird Motel clutching the grip of his .45 under the pillow. Nerves still jangled after surviving the ghost sickness meant having to force himself to stay perfectly still for a moment, listening intently and slowly sliding open his eyelids.
In the predawn stillness a loud snore cut the air from the other double bed.
"Fuck," Dean whispered, then, irked, flopped over on his back against the pillow, it was early, but he'd never get back to sleep despite not getting his four hours in. He groaned inwardly and resigned himself to getting up.
Once he'd showered and was on his second cup of coffee Dean debated attempting to wake Sam. Yeah, no, he sighed, took a gulp of the now lukewarm joe and turned back to the laptop screen. Sam was useless without a good seven or eight hours. Dean continued searching, but he wasn't finding much in the news of the weird. Figured. Just when he needed to keep his mind off of, well, stuff, no jobs to be had. His cell phone rattled against the tabletop and he snatched it up flipping it open to see Bobby's number.
"Hey Bobby," he didn't try to keep his voice down; deciding in the spur of the moment that it was goddamn morning and if everyone else was up, then Sam was going to be too.
"Hey," Bobby greeted him. "How ya doin' kid? Still ready to hunt?"
Dean heard Bobby stifle a chuckle and frowned.
"Maybe got somethin' here for ya." Bobby went on.
"Hit me."
"Little place called Hillside. Only a few hours from you. Lotta disappearances lately, you know, for a hick town in the middle of Nowhere, Utah."
"More demon crap?"
"Dunno. It's not just adults, a couple kids missin', too."
"We'll check it out." He was eager to work and even if it was nothing, it wouldn't hurt to sniff around.
"I'll send ya what I have. How's your brother?"
Dean looked over his shoulder at the still wetly snoring lump in Sam's bed, "Turning into a mucus monster apparently. But otherwise fine."
"And how are you?"
He clenched his jaw for a moment before answering, "I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, you boys check in with me, ya hear?"
"Sure thing, Bobby," Dean toyed with a decidedly flippant answer, but it was too early in the morning to be a smart ass.
The phone went dead and Dean snapped it closed and dropped it to the table. Time to wake up Sam.
###
They'd taken the morning for breakfast and checking and restocking the trunk and ice chest. Dean mapped the trip, a little over six hours on I-70, figure in back roads instead and the Rocky Mountains and they'd make it to Hillside a bit after dark. They rolled out of Rock Ridge early afternoon, chewing on burritos and laughing at Dean's recent predicament. After a day he found that without too much prevarication he could laugh at himself along with Sam. Then again, perhaps it was simply relief. Relief at still being alive and roaring down a two-lane in his Baby with his brother at his side; relief at having a case to work to keep his mind busy; fuck, at this point he was just happy to be awake and not mired in nightmares. Whatever it was, he'd let Sam laugh at him, and he'd laugh along because it kept the shit at bay.
A few hours later and heading into the reddish autumn sundown Dean leaned back into the driver's seat, the rumble of the Impala's V-8 wrapping around him like an old familiar shirt. On the stereo Let Me Put My Love Into You faded out and the cassette clicked to the B side. The first rough guitar strains of Back in Black began, and Dean made a rueful grimace remembering Sam's iPod stuck to the dash not so long ago.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam slumped against the passenger window. "Sam."
Nothing happened.
Louder, "Sammy."
Nothing but the music, the growling engine and the whine of tires against the road.
Louder still, "Sammy!"
Sam woke with a start, grabbing at his laptop as it started to slip from his knees into the footwell.
"So what'd Bobby say about this place?" Dean smirked, giving Sam a side eye, as he turned the stereo down.
Sam coughed,"uh, yeah, um, nine missing, um, all ages, uh..." His voice faded out and Dean could see him rubbing his eyes. "So nine missing, two kids under ten years old..." he clicked through some pages on the screen for a moment. "Hillside is along Highway 491 north of the Four Corners." Sam chuckled, "So get this: Highway 491 used to be called Highway 666."
"Dude, come on." Dean rolled his eyes.
Sam laughed, "No, really. This says it was the sixth branch off Highway 66. So, 666. Also known as The Devil's Highway, Satan's Speedway and Highway to Hell."
Dean laughed in reply, a little nervous and fake sounding to his own ears, but then something red and screaming flickered across his mind, and it no longer mattered. "So, what's the story?"
"It's pretty empty out there and that stretch has lots of breakdowns," Sam paused to yawn.
Dean scoffed. "Yeah, cause that never happens on a desolate two-lane."
Sam spared his brother another grin then refocused on the laptop, "Yeah, right."
The engine roar engulfed them for a few moments.
"Oh, and there's a flaming semi that runs cars off the road."
"Hmmm," Dean rolled his eyes again.
"Yeah," Sam offered, "ghost truck. Other ghosts have been sighted and there's some reports of a woman in white. And, oh...hell hounds?"
"Wait. What?"
"Yeah, stories about packs of hell hounds in the desert, chasing cars and crashing through windows to get at the passengers..."
"So they rip open cars to get to the soft nougaty center?"
Sam laughed, "Something like that. What d'ya think?"
Dean turned to Sam, raising an eyebrow and tried not to clench his jaw. "What? I'm a hell hound's chew toy for all of a minute and now I'm the expert?"
"No, no, I just," Sam sighed, "you know, never mind."
Dean sighed as well, he hadn't meant to snap, "What about the disappearances? Anything unusual there?"
"Not really...wait, here's one where an entire family disappeared off the highway. Their car was still running when it was found."
"So, the kids."
"Yeah."
They fell to silence, and Sam became engrossed in his reading again. Dean turned up the stereo. It wasn't so much that he wanted to hear the music, it was just that he didn't want to hear the hell hound growling as it mangled his flesh and the meaty ripping sound of his muscles as they tore from the bone.
###
The night began to close in around them, until their world was little more than the twin bright cones of Baby's headlights straining through the murky dark. Dean repressed an urge to rub his gritty eyes for what seemed the thousandth time since they passed through Mesa Verde. From Mesa Verde Highway 491 made a straight northwest shot across the Colorado-Utah border north of Four Corners into eastern Utah. After a long day of driving it was easy to get hypnotized on such a highway and Dean found himself squeezing and blinking his eyes to keep the highway fatigue at bay. A road sign coming up declared that Moab was less than a hundred miles away, which meant about half an hour to Hillside. Dean glanced at Sam who was plugged into the iPod which had so recently sullied Baby. Undoubtedly listening to something Dean would never approve of. Maybe he should let Sam pick the music now and then. Naaawwww, Dean laughed inwardly, shotgun should never have that privilege. Turning his full attention back to the road he saw lightening flashing in the distance, staining the underside of the heavy clouds corpse gray. Then within a few car lengths the sky opened and heavy rain pummeled the Impala. Dean sighed and flicked on the wipers, awesome.
Miles rolled past and the rain began to ease. He could see the glow of city lights up ahead and could almost taste the burger and beers he planned on getting first thing. A strange moving light broke through the gloom ahead of them. It quickly resolved to a soaked figure waving a flashlight from the shoulder. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him as he pulled Baby up a bit back from a beat up camper van on the shoulder of the road, careful of the rain softened earth beyond it. Rain still tapped the roof after he cut off the engine and the figure wielding the flashlight headed toward them. Door hinges singing, the boys got out of the car.
A slight young woman entered the beam of the headlights. The hood and shoulders of her tie-dye hoodie clung to her body, strands of sky blue hair were pasted to her face and her sandaled feet were muddy. She waved in greeting, smiling broadly, "Hey! Thanks for stopping, man."
"Hey," Sam replied, "Broke down?"
"Thank you Captain Obvious," Dean muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
"Yeah," The girl replied. "Hey, think I can get a ride into town? Tree started walking to town a few hours ago. I kinda thought he'd be back by now." She shrugged.
"We'll give you a lift," Sam answered her, glancing at Dean who nodded in agreement.
"Cool!" She dug in the kangaroo pocket and removed her cell, squinting at its screen. "No bars." She raised it so they could see.
Sam checked his phone, "me neither."
"So, I need to get some stuff and lock up, can you give me a few minutes? I'm Rainbow, by the way."
One eyebrow raised, Dean caught Sam's eye, mouthing Rainbow? Tree? Sam smirked in reply.
She swung the double back doors of the van wide and a wall of patchouli incense and 420 celebration smoke hit them in the face. Dean grimace involuntarily, and took a couple of steps back.
"Great. Hippies," he grumbled under his breath. Sam was the better Crazy Whisperer so he left him to get the rest of the story out of Rainbow. He headed away from the road, watching and listening, bits of the conversation carried to him and he tuned it out listening for the sounds of the night amidst the still lightly pattering rain. Lightening flashed and in the metallic glare he thought he saw something moving in the shadows of a juniper tree, beyond the pool of light cast by his flashlight and the headlights. He clicked off the flashlight, stepping beyond the headlight glow and closed his eyes for a few seconds to help them adjust to the dark.
He waited in the gloom, listening intently, still except for turning his head to try to catch the sounds at the edge of his hearing. The rain had slowed to an intermittent sprinkle and a light wind sashayed and danced throwing it against the brush in fitful patters. Dull footfalls sounded against the dampened, sandy earth, a shrub whispered as something moved against it; a low growl, from deep in a canine chest, rose in pitch as it approached him, an unholy Doppler effect. Dean's eyes flew open and he strained to see anything but the black on black silhouettes of the scrub desert. His heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears began to drown out all other noise. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he consciously tightened his body to keep from hightailing it like a frightened rabbit. He freed the M1911 from his waistband and forced himself to back slowly toward the cars, carefully and quietly.
"Sam!" It escaped between clenched teeth. "Sam! We need to get out of here. Now!"
Dean turned and not quite ran to the Impala, grabbing the keys from a pocket and jamming them into the lock on the trunk. He opened it and the false bottom in almost one motion, dropping the 1911 and grabbing a sawed-off he knew was already loaded with salt shells and turning to toss it at Sam who came up beside him. He grabbed the other shotgun and slammed the trunk closed.
"What's going on, Dean?" Sam grabbed Dean's arm, arresting his flight.
"Come on!" Dean yanked his arm away and stepped forward, putting himself between Sam and Rainbow and the oncoming hounds, body so taut he was nearly vibrating. "Get her in the car Sam!"
The growling was louder and coming from more than one direction. Lightening flashed again and Dean could see the brush swaying and flattening as something crashed through it toward them. He imagined, or maybe saw, ghostly red eyes watching him. He heard the Impala's doors slam and ran for the driver's side diving in and starting it up immediately. Dean stomped on the gas and the Impala's rear end fish-tailed into the wet, sandy soil until it caught purchase on the asphalt and catapulted them forward. He didn't let up as they roared away.
"What's going on?" Sam demanded.
"I saw them."
"Saw what?"
Dean spared a glance in the rear-view at his backseat passenger. She looked bewildered, but met his gaze. "Which way did he head?"
"North," she sounded confused, "north toward Hillside."
"Dean!" Sam spat out, "what the hell!"
Dean caught Rainbow in the mirror again, looking back and forth at them like she was at a tennis match. He threw Sam's questioning look a shut the hell up grimace and turned back to concentrate on the road. He tried to slow down, he tried to think, but all he could hear and feel and see was the memory of a hell hound killing him. And he had to keep it together and get them out of there.
A few minutes later they were pulling into Hillside, Rainbow was on her cell with her boyfriend. She directed them to a gas station. "Tree said to meet him here. He's got a guy that will help us with a tow."
"Super," Dean told her. He couldn't wait to get the stink of patchouli out of his Baby.
###
They found an aging motor inn near the gas station on the edge of town. It was called Hole in the Rock Inn and the rooms were three or four to a building with adobe walls finished to look like red rock mesas. There were several of these buildings scattered in a field within a curve of an actual mesa. Dean drove Baby slowly toward the building in the back where they'd requested a room.
They dumped their duffles on their beds, and Dean set the cooler on the rickety table. Then Sam got in his face and squared off with him. "Okay, nobody else here. What the hell happened back there?"
Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. A little time and distance and he was unsure about what he saw. If he even saw anything and he was reluctant to put it into words , "nuthin'. I need a beer."
Sam's face was pure disbelief. "Dean."
"You wanna beer?"
"Dean, we're going to talk about this."
"Whadda ya want me to say, Sam?" Dean threw at his brother, "I got a little spooked, okay?"
"Right. You got spooked." Sam didn't need to make air quotes, his sarcasm said it all.
Dean flopped onto his bed, leaning back against the wall legs stretched out before him and chugged half his beer. Above him a photograph of Delicate Arch rattled against the wall from the force of his movements.
Sam sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, facing his brother. "You don't get spooked, Dean. What was it?"
Dean swallowed hard a couple of times and slammed another slug of his beer. "Hell hounds." he almost whispered, "I saw -" Sam's look of disbelief stopped him and he scowled.
"I didn't see anything." Sam shrugged, "So, maybe the stories say there are hell hounds out there and you saw some because you expected to see something?"
"So, what? I imagined it? Thanks, Sammy. Thanks a lot."
"Look, I know you remember the hell hound that got you. I know you remember Hell. And after the last few days you've had, I don't blame you for being jumpy..." Sam tried to keep his tone calm, reasonable.
"Yeah?" Dean cut him off, "you're wrong, cause I don't remember shit." He chugged the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle down on the bedside table a little harder than was strictly necessary.
Sam knew he'd get nothing more out of his brother and turned away shaking his head. "Okay, man. Sure, we'll go with that." He grabbed his Dopp bag and headed for the shower. Behind him Dean gave his back a stoney bitch face.