Once again my peaceful slumber is interrupted. I'm beginning to think that's the story of my life. At least this time it's not Sam's annoyingly persistent voice penetrating my sleep haze. This time it's a soft feminine voice and I wonder briefly if I've gone home with someone. A smile pulls at my mouth at that thought before my brain chugs back to life and recognizes the voice as Lindy's. The smile remains though as I think about what she might do if I just reached up and pulled her into bed with me.
My thoughts are stilled by the feeling of Lindy leaning close over me and the tingle of her breath against my ear. She whispers, "Dean, Sam and I borrowed your car. He said it would be okay, but…Dean, there was this deer…"
I know she's lying, but I can't stop the immediate feeling of panic that hits me at the thought of Sam crashing my car. My eyes snap open, "You're lying."
She smiles, still leaning close to me, "Yeah, but man are you predictable."
I hear Sam snort in the background and frown at both of them, pushing myself up a little on the pillows "Am not."
"Are, too." she argues.
"Am not." I insist.
"Oh, come on, Dean." she insists, "I've known you a day and I already knew you'd freak out if I told you the car was totaled, even if you didn't believe me."
My frown deepens to a scowl. I immediately decide that I'd better get this idea out of her mind before it settles in. So, I follow through on my previous idea. I grab both her arms and pull her towards me. She cries out in surprise as she falls over me onto the bed next to me. Almost on instinct, I turn towards her, lean over her and kiss her. I don't really know why. It just seems like the thing to do. It's probably a bad idea, though, considering that despite what Sam said or what I've thought, she's not really my type. My type is the kind of girl I can walk away from and, preferably, who I won't feel too bad about walking away from and who won't feel too bad about it themselves either. Lindy's not that kind of girl. It's easy to tell that about her. She's the kind of girl who, if I got involved with her, wouldn't let me walk away. She's much too stubborn.
I hear Sam protesting, reminding me that he's still here, but what do I care? I'm just kissing her. It's not like we're having sex. Sam can be so childish sometimes. And to think he calls me immature.
But all that's only what I'm thinking in the back of my mind. The majority of my attention is focused on the blonde reporter I'm currently making out with. I can feel her utter surprise at first, then her shyness, but finally, and best of all, her desire. God, why again was it I ever had a problem with bringing her along?
Slowly, I pull away feeling pretty damn satisfied, "Predictable my ass."
Lindy doesn't say anything, lying almost frozen in place. Her eyes are still partly closed, mouth open slightly. She looks stunned, which I find fairly amusing, but also gratifying. I've still got it.
"Can we go now?" Sam whines.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get up, "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a twist, Sammy."
Sam sends me a quick glare, as expected, before heading out to the cars. I glance back at Lindy out of the corner of my eye and notice her sitting up on the bed, her hand held up to her mouth. A smirk appears on my face, but I quickly bury it, replacing it with a more reasonable and less slap-inducing smile before I turn around. I cock my head to one side as I ask, "Ready to go?"
Her hand immediately drops back to her side and she straightens her posture as if to erase any trace of her "moment of weakness." I can visibly see in her face the emotions being pushed to the side and a calm determination emerging as she focuses on the job. Finally, she meets my eyes and nods.
"Alright. Let's go kill this bitch." I encourage, gesturing for her to proceed me out of the room.
She jumps up and heads outside. I wonder if she's going to say anything about that kiss, but she doesn't. Maybe she's pretending it didn't happen. Maybe she's just focused on what's ahead of us. That's probably a good idea. I turn my own thoughts to the demon in the ghost town. I wonder what's attracted it to this little cesspit of a town in the middle of nowhere. Not that it really matters. Besides, questioning the motives of the supernatural can sometimes be more trouble than its worth.
So, a fear demon, huh? Funny, besides Dad's little entry and Lindy's knowledge, the most I've heard about fear demons is from Buffy. Too bad I can't really expect ours to be only a few inches tall and to be able to kill it by squishing it with my shoe. Damn that show and it's inaccurate, but incredibly entertaining portrayals.
I wonder how much control we'll have with this thing. Will we be able to manipulate which fears it can tap into? If I focus really hard on being afraid of something harmless, will I be able to maybe convince it to manifest that thing? Maybe it's worth a shot. Kind of optimistic and unrealistic on my part, but worth a shot. I'd much rather fight like a bowl of Jell-O than…well, anything more capable of hurting me. Then again, it might try to drown me in the Jell-O and that would really suck. I hate Jell-O. And how would I kill Jell-O anyway? Huh maybe this'll require a little more thought.
Outside, Sam and Lindy are standing between the two cars again, apparently deciding on driving arrangements. I think it's pretty dumb to mess with two cars and decide to tell them as much, "Let's just all take the Impala. There's no reason to take both cars."
Lindy nods and Sam moves around towards the passenger side of my car. But Lindy heads for her own vehicle and unlocks the trunk.
"Give me a second to get a few things." her voice is muffled by the metal between us.
Curious about what she feels necessary to bring along, I walk over and peer around the trunk to see what she's getting. She holding a backpack and rummaging through a ton of junk for something. An EMF reader emerges from the depths and is quickly added to the backpack, soon followed by a recorder and what I recognize as her camera bag. I also don't fail to notice, although she does it very quickly as if she's trying to hide the fact that she's doing it at all, that she checks on a small pocket knife that's in her backpack. Looks like a switchblade, too, if I'm not completely losing it. My eyes widen a little at the knowledge that she carries a weapon in her backpack. I'm liking her a little more every minute. Now, if she only knew how to shoot…
She closes the trunk and I'm caught in the midst of snooping. She jumps when she sees me and I offer her a somewhat guilty, but hardly apologetic look.
"Has anyone ever told you not to lurk? It's creepy." she comments, shouldering her backpack and starting towards my car.
"Hey, creepy's what I do." I protest, following her lead and turning back to the Impala.
I settle into my familiar spot behind the wheel. I love how comfortable and familiar the Impala is. This car is more like home than anything. And now with my brother next to me and a pretty girl along for the ride, I'm kind of happy despite the fact that we're headed out to face a demon. If Dad were here, it'd be perfect.
I glance back at Lindy in the backseat. She looks kind of lost in her own thoughts, which may not be a good thing. If she freaks herself out before we even get there, she'll be useless.
"So, Lindy, what do you want to listen to on the drive out to the boonies?" I ask her.
She glances up at me and is about to reply when Sam butts in, "Hey, what happened to 'driver picks the music and shotgun shuts up?'"
"One, she's not shotgun and two, I'm a gentleman." Sam snorts at that remark so I glare at him before I continue, "She doesn't have to shut up, just you." Now that Sam's been put back in his place and is glaring petulantly at me, I turn back to Lindy, "So, what would you like?"
She's smiling now so I feel like my mission to keep her from over-thinking has been accomplished. She thinks for a moment before she requests, "Lynyrd Skynyrd?"
"Right. Sam, dig that out for her, will you? I haven't listened to any Skynyrd in a while so it's probably on the bottom." I instruct as I turn my attention to backing the car out of the lot and turning on to the road.
Sam sighs like he's Cinderella and I'm both ugly stepsisters and the evil stepmother rolled into one before he reaches down and digs through the tapes. One of these days Sam's really going to have to lighten up. I mean, if he pouts any more his face'll get stuck like that. Or maybe it's already stuck and that's why he pouts so much! Have I solved the mystery of Sam? Oh my god, I'm a genius.
Sam emerges with the tape and grumpily pushes it into the player before slumping back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks out the window, boredom plastered across his face, but I know him better. He's been using this same routine since he was seven and he still hasn't given up hope that if he sulks long enough I'll get tired of it and give in to what he wants. It's really annoying, but I'm pretty damn stubborn, so good luck with that, Sam. Besides, if I just ignore him he'll eventually snap out of it and start thinking about some ways to deal with this human-hording, fear-sucking bitch.
The familiar strains of 'Sweet Home, Alabama' blasts out of my speakers and no matter how hard I try, it's just impossible not to at least mouth the words to the chorus. I hear Lindy faintly singing along behind me, as well. And to my surprise, I catch Sam grudgingly mouthing the words after the second repeat of the chorus, too. I smile to myself and try to keep relaxed. I can already feel myself instinctually getting ready for a fight, but I fight it off. I don't want to let myself go into "hunter mode" until the last possible second. That way I can conserve my energy for when it really counts. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.
So, I let the sounds of southern rock distract me for the time it takes to drive to Fort Tucker. As I do, I notice the sun setting in my rearview mirror. Orange smears slowly retract from the sky, giving way to the purples and blues of dusk. In my mind I imagine it's like the sun is hanging on for dear life, the orange tendrils in the sky, the tracks left by its fingers as it is dragged away behind the horizon to meet some dark fate. But that's a little morbid so I force that thought from my brain and instead try to think of the sunset as something picturesque and beautiful. It's hard to hold on to that sentimental crap, though, when your subconscious keeps spitting out more fears that you thought you didn't have that could possibly put you and your brother and the girl you picked up along the way in danger. Although, I wouldn't really call them fears so much as worries. They're not the same. I'm not afraid of death. It happens all the time. I see it all the time. I've looked it in the face, even. Doesn't mean I'm willing to let it happen to me or mine. Doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. And all those things trying to do just that, to put me or my family in the ground, I'm not afraid of those things. I'm just kind of apprehensive about them, about the possibilities for tragedy they present. Because if I can't pull off the hero bit someday and Dad, Sam, or even someone I've just met like Lindy ends up dead, I don't know how well I'll take it. Actually, I can't really even think about life without Dad or Sam. But it's not because I'm afraid. Dean Winchester is not afraid of being alone. I can't be afraid of that because it's not an option.
"Dean?"
I almost jump at the sound of Sam's voice and curse myself for letting my guard down.
"Yeah."
"I think I've got a plan."
I don't like how he says that. It sounds like the kind of plan that involves something I won't like and knowing Sam it'll probably entail reckless endangerment of his life. But I won't jump to conclusions. Maybe he actually has a good idea for once.
"Okay." I say slowly, waiting for him to continue.
Sam takes a deep breath before turning to look at me. I don't like the look on his face either. That look plus that tone of voice equal Sam being extremely stupid.
"I think I need to face this alone." Sam finally says.
It takes every ounce of will power I possess not to slam on the brakes. My hands tighten around the steering wheel and I grind my teeth together.
"Dean?" Sam presses, "I think it's the only way."
"I don't want to hear it, Sam!" I finally snap.
Silence, broken only by the sounds of 'Simple Man' and the roar of the engine, descends on the car. Why does Sam do this to me? Is he deliberately trying to piss me off? What makes him think I'm going to stand by and let him face a demon by himself? Even when we had the plane demon, I wouldn't let him go alone. You'd think he'd have figured out how this is going to work by now.
"Why do you think you need to face it alone, Sam?"
Lindy's voice almost makes me jerk around to look at her in disbelief. What does it matter what Sam's dumbass reasoning is? It's a stupid idea. I'm about to tell her as much when Sam launches into his explanation.
"My fears don't involve the death of living people whereas both of yours do and I think that I can control it. At least enough to get this thing to manifest so that you guys can kill it." Sam says quickly.
"You keep saying that, Sam, but we both know you're full of shit." I growl because I know as well as he does that he's terrified that he's the cause of Mom's and Jessica's deaths, but also that he's doomed to have everyone he ever gets close to drop dead, too.
"We've lured evil things like that before." Sam changes the subject.
"It's not the same, Sam." I insist, "This is a demon. Not Bloody Mary or some angry ghost. This is different."
"No, it's not, Dean." Sam refuses to listen.
"Damn it, Sam! Why can't you ever just listen? You wouldn't listen to Dad and now you won't even listen to me." escapes me before I can stop myself.
Now Sam looks as angry as I feel, "Alright, Dean. What's your brilliant idea?"
"We go in together, we stick together." I respond almost automatically.
"And then we can end up fighting all three of our fears? Great idea, Dean." Sam retorts.
My knuckles are turning white on the wheel, "Sam, if you don't shut the hell up right now…" I can't even finish the threat.
Sam glares at me, but he doesn't say anything. Thankfully, Fort Tucker comes into view before too long, saving me from having to argue much more with Sam while in a moving vehicle. Not to mention the fact that the more we argue, the faster I'm going. I lighten up on the gas and then pull to a stop in almost the exact same spot as before. Without waiting for either Sam or Lindy, I get out, slamming my door and head for the trunk. I start arming myself with anything and everything I can think of. Since this thing can manifest anything I'll need to be prepared for anything.
I feel someone standing behind me and glance over my shoulder. It's Lindy.
"Dean, I'm sorry." she says, her soft voice and hesitant demeanor reminding me of when I first met her.
I turn my attention back to my weapons, "Not now, Lindy."
Lindy obstinately persists by moving around me into my line of vision. She follows my gaze down towards the stash of various hunting must-haves.
"You're right." she says, surprising me by agreeing with me, "Fight the bad guy now, talk later, right?"
"Right." I agree. My eyes scan the remaining weapons for something to give Lindy. The .22 catches my eye. Sam usually carries it, but he can take any of the rest of the guns and use them just as effectively. So, I give Lindy the gun. She doesn't even try to protest this time, just takes it wordlessly. Then, another idea comes to me and I pull out a pair of daggers that Dad gave me when I was fifteen. I hand them to her, as well. I hope that she knows what she's doing with that switchblade in her backpack and that she can handle the daggers, too. Maybe she'll even find them better than the gun since she didn't look particularly thrilled about the gun I gave her earlier.
I watch her carefully as she pulls one of the daggers from its sheath. She inspects the blade with a look on her face that makes me think that she may know what she's looking at.
"My dad had this thing with pocket knives." she says as she stares at the shining stainless steel, "He used to give me new ones all the time for birthdays and stuff. He was an outdoorsy guy, liked to whittle. But I was a punk kid and I thought the bigger knives were more cool. So, I bought myself some less practical ones from the Knife Shop like throwing daggers. Dad thought it was stupid, but made sure that I knew what I was doing with any blade I brought into his house. I was still his daughter, after all." She looks up at me and smiles grimly, "I don't think he had this in mind, though."
I feel her regret and apprehension, but I'm inwardly kind of thrilled that she's good with knives. At least she won't be completely defenseless. Maybe she'll actually come in handy. Still, I feel like I should say something, "It'll be okay."
She continues to smile at me with that same somewhat nihilistic smile, letting me know that sees right through me, "Don't get your hopes up. I'm not a ninja or anything. Just a reporter who had a weird hobby when she was a kid."
I'm about to say something witty like "Hey, weird is good" when Sam shoves roughly past me to get to the trunk. I guess he got tired of waiting. I look at his back as he picks and chooses, not really angry anymore, but no less determined to keep him from being careless. Sam's quick to arm himself, slamming the trunk shut after only a minute. I wince on the Impala's behalf and mentally apologize to her, promising her that Sam doesn't mean it. Gotta keep the getaway vehicle happy, after all. Sam turns to face us, his face unreadable.
"Okay." I say, "Let's stay close."
I can't tell if Sam's really listening to me, but we don't have time to dispute it anymore. I just hope that he'll follow my lead and this won't be as bad as I'm imagining.
