Authors' (Yes- plural) Note: We don't own anything from Supernatural. Bummer. We'd like to note that- timeline-wise- this story takes place between Provenance and Dead Man's Blood.

The night closed velvet black around the Impala, heavy clouds blocking any moonlight. They were far from any town, and the trees crowded around the winding stretch of deserted highway. Ever since they'd past Big Lake on their way northwest, traffic had died off . The only light came from the soft glow of the dashboard. Dean kept his eyes on the road while Sam tried to sleep in that awkward half-leaning, half-sitting position that people always assumed for napping in cars.

The mellow strains of Led Zeppelin's "That's the Way" played low on the speakers, and Dean nodded along until he was in danger of nodding off. He shook himself and hit the fast-forward on the tape deck and held it in until he knew he'd hit something livelier. Even so, he found himself yawning into his hand.

It wasn't surprising that he was tired. Three days in the car with only enough stops to sleep and gas up had left them both exhausted. He kicked himself for not stopping at the last town that'd been large enough to have a hotel. Now it seemed like they'd be driving all night until they hit civilization again. Perfect. A dose of road-fatigue was just what he and Sam needed before they faced off against the next big bad bogeyman.

He reached over and slapped Sam roughly on the shoulder. His brother jerked and blinked owlishly in the dim light

"Huh? Are we there yet?" he asked.

"Are we there yet? Are you three?" Dean smirked.

"What'd you wake me up for?" Sam grumbled and scrubbed his face with one hand.

"Well, seeing as how we don't even a there to be," Dean began, "I figured you should play navigator and check the map. I'm tired of driving, and you definitely need some shut eye. What's the next biggest town?"

Sam sighed and shuffled through the stack of newspapers and fast-food wrappers on the car floor in search of the Minnesota road map. He unfolded it and dug out a penlight to read by. Dean winced at the sudden brightness, but kept his eyes on the road.

"We're on Highway Ten?"

Dean grunted an affirmative.

"What was the last town we passed?"

"Big Lake, about twenty minutes ago."
"Well, looks like we'll pass through Clear Water, but it's a small town. Right on the other side of that is Saint Cloud," Sam said and switched off the light.

"Saint Cloud?" Dean repeated skeptically. "What the fuck kind of saint is that?"

"Does it matter? Looks like it's a pretty decent size. We'll find a motel no problem."

"Saint Cloud." Dean shook his head. "Fuckin' Minnesota."

"You're not still bitter about those homicidal hicks, are you?" Sam asked, teeth flashing in a not-so-humorous grin.

Dean's gaze flicked over to his brother, then back to the road. "Yup."

Sam snorted and lapsed into silence. The next ten minutes were quiet, only broken by the music and the rhythm of the road. When the exit came up, Dean eased the Impala onto the off ramp. Sam kept an eye out for a motel of some sort.

"Hey, over there," he said, pointing at a large, generic sign that proclaimed 'MOTEL.'

"Well, that's convenient," Dean remarked.

"A little too convenient," Sam added.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You just couldn't resist."

As they drew nearer, though, they reconsidered. No fewer than four cop cars were pulled into the parking lot, lights flashing. Through the doors of the car, they heard voices shouting.

"Drop your weapons!"

"Get down on the ground!"

"Whatevah!"

"He ain't my baby's daddy!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a long-suffering look.

"So, coffee?" Dean suggested.

They ended up down the road in the midst of what was apparently the downtown area. Thirsty Thursday was in full swing, and the place was crawling with the raucous college crowd. Sam sipped at his coffee and stared out the window at the inebriated hordes weaving across the busy road. It made him wistful. Under a year ago, he might have been part of this, maybe not drunk but among friends, and nothing more to worry about than a paper due, or a test next week. Jess would be hanging on his arm, tugging him along and giggling.

His heart panged, and he looked down into his cup. The pain was still strong, but not as sharp as it once had been. Instead of feeling gutted by the sensation of loss, he merely felt nauseous and weary. Looking for distraction, he glanced up at Dean, who was shamelessly checking out the skimpily dressed bimbos streaming through the door. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean caught the gesture and returned it with a 'what?' look.

"You're completely hopeless, you know," Sam said.

"Come on. What's the point of coming to Perkins if you can't even look at the menu?" Dean replied, leaning to get a better look at some chick's ass.

"That," Sam said, waving a hand, "is not on the menu."

"Aw, man. Learn to live a little."

Sam glared and it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. He picked up the menu in front of him and flipped through it sullenly. As their conversation lulled, the hubbub of the restaurant flowed around them. Snatches of other conversations floated to him, most of them completely vapid.

"So Justin told her to fuck off, man, and she was pissed-"

"And I was like, whatever, get off me!"

"-and then I put an arrow straight through that demon's heart."

Wait. What?

Sam glanced around, suddenly alert. The comment had come from a table across the aisle, where three sketchy looking people huddled over coffee and an overflowing ashtray. The only girl in the group leaned back in her chair and stared at the clock, seemingly bored with the conversation between the two gothed out guys.

"Did you make sure it was dead?" the scrawny, pock-marked kid asked. His stringy hair hung over his face as he leaned in over the table towards the other guy. His expression was intense to the point of being comical and Sam had to resist the urge to burst out laughing.

The shorter, furrier guy nodded solemnly. "Put another three shots into it. That fucker was not getting up again."
"And Heather don't have any problems since," the girl added, her voice annoyingly nasal.

"You did well, my young Malachai," the scrawny guy said. "You have the true Warrior's spirit."

By this time, Dean had noticed where Sam's attention had wandered and he turned to glance skeptically over his shoulder. When he took in the appearance of the speakers, he sank lower in his seat and snickered. Sam grinned and propped his head up on his fist. These guys had to be joking. They looked more like role-players than any kind of hunter. All they needed was some twenty sided dice to complete the look.

"Oh, look!" the girl said suddenly, and started waving to someone at the door. "They're here. Hey! Over here!"

Several loud giggles and assorted shrieky sounds erupted from the group of girls striding over to the table without waiting for a host. One was dark-haired and dressed in a way that screamed 'mystique,' all black velvet, stark white skin and silver jewelry. Her shrill giggles pierced Sam's ears and made Dean wince. But Dean's wince morphed into a devious grin as he leered at the tallest girl.

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe business-like bun that contrasted drastically with her well-worn jeans and faded blue hoodie. She had icy blue eyes, pale skin that boasted of Nordic heritage and a wide toothy grin that was just this side of intimidating. Sam took one look at her and thought, "Valkyrie." Dean took one look at her and... well, Sam didn't want to know what he thought.

The last girl was giggling hysterically and looked like the only one of her friends that knew what sunshine looked like. She was dressed in bright yellow skirt and a green sweater that complimented the emerald green streaks in her strawberry blonde hair. The three of them pulled a table over to their friends' table like they owned the place as a server brought over three drinks. Sam figured they were regular customers by their behavior and the odd drinks that were placed in front of them.

"Tepid tea with honey and lemon, Sprite with a shot of rootbeer, and a Cherry Coke, no ice." The server shook his head at them as they choked back their laughter, "Do you want food now or later when the rest show up?"

"Uh, may as well wait for the others," the tall girl said firmly. "Thanks, Ewok."

The server mock-curtseyed with his apron and lisped, "Oh, honey, it's no problem."

When he'd gone, the nasally girl spoke up. "So, how did the séance go?"

"It was a complete bust," the girl with the streaks said, drooping with disappointment. "The spirits didn't even make the candles flicker."
"Well," began the 'mystique' girl in a superior tone, "No offense, Iris, but your third eye isn't really tuned in, you know? I sensed a lot of energy around us. The girl was trying to talk to us, but that guy was trying to keep her from reaching us."

Iris raised an eyebrow and fished a cherry out of her soda instead of replying. The tall girl gave her a sympathetic look.

"Where are Danielle and Adrianna?" asked the furry 'hunter.'

"Adrianna lost her pentacle and they both stayed to look for it," the tall girl explained.

The furry guy looked disappointed. The pock-marked guy smirked at him, which earned him a glare and a shot to the ribs by the nasally chick's elbow. Dean snickered a little at the exchange as Sam contemplated the ramifications of what this odd group was discussing. Whether these people were serious or insane, Sam was beginning to feel as though he and Dean were about to dive right in to yet another hunt.

Mystique girl shuddered exaggeratedly. "I would just leave it there, if I were her. The stone circle is full of baaad mojo."

Dean and Sam, having listened to this exchange with bemusement and some derision, exchanged a look across their table. When one had been on as many hunts as they had, one got to read the warning signs. A bunch of silly wannabe psychics doing séances in symbolic landmarks could be just mindless thrill-seeking with no fear of consequences, but it could also be the start of a bloody killing-spree for a vengeful spirit. In situations such as these, it was better to make sure. Sam nodded slightly at Dean's questioning look.

The older Winchester turned in his seat, pasting his most charming, casual smile on his face.

"Sorry to break in," he said loudly enough to get noticed over the rowdy group's chatter. They turned to look at him. "Couldn't help but overhear. So, you all are into that witchcraft stuff, huh?"

"Pssht," Iris said as her lips puckered into a scowl.

The mysterious girl flipped her brownish black hair over her shoulder and glowered at Dean and Sam. In a voice oozing with scorn, she said, "It's only our religion."

The tall girl leaned forward conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling with mischief and favored Dean with a wry smirk. "So, are you guys into all that Christian stuff?"

Dean blinked, taken aback. As much fun as it was to watch his brother get berated, Sam had to stifle a snicker. They needed some more information to figure out if this was going to be a problem that they would need to handle and, apparently, it was going to take a bit more tact then Dean was capable of having. Once again, Sam was going to have to do some damage control before they lost any chance of finding out some information.

"Sorry, he's not exactly politically correct," Sam said. "We didn't mean to offend you. We're just curious, is all."

"Curious," the mysterious girl echoed, disdainful. The tall girl shot her a quelling look and darker haired girl slunk back in the seat, sulking at the unspoken rebuke.

"What part are you curious about?" asked Iris, expression tolerant and open. The scowl was gone from her face and was replaced by a pleasant little smile that seemed to encourage questions. Sam was intrigued by the groups' reaction. With the exception of Iris and the tall girl, they were sullen and seemed unwilling to talk to the Winchesters and even the tall girl was wary. It was odd that only Iris would answer their questions because most of the time, the people that Sam and Dean met were more than willing to share all kinds of information with them.

"Well, for one," Dean said, recovering his smile. "What should we call you pretty ladies?"

Introductions were made for all at this point. Mystique girl was predictably called Morgan, the tall girl was Bethany, Iris' name they already knew. The furry guy and the pock-marked guy were Harry and Dwayne respectively, and finally the nasal girl identified herself as Bernice. By the time Sam and Dean introduced themselves, the group's reaction to them had thawed a bit.

"Now that that's out of the way," Sam said, "What were you talking about earlier? Some kind of séance or something?"

"Yeah, down on campus," Iris replied with a vague gesture that somehow managed not to communicate any direction at all. "There are these old closed-off stairs that go down right to the Mississippi River, and it's really weird down there."

"Not that all of campus isn't haunted anyway," Bernice put in, grinning.

"Yeah, well, the stone circle is different," Morgan said firmly.

"Stone circle?" Dean asked, laying confusion on thickly. Sam stomped on his foot under the table. Dean kicked him right back, expression not slipping one bit.

"At the bottom of the stairs there's this ring of granite chunks," Bethany said with a shrug. "It's got some local legends attached to it. No one knows if it's true or not, but creepy shit happens down there."

"What's the legend? I love ghost stories," Dean drawled with a smile designed to dazzle.

Bethany looked appropriately dazzled momentarily, but rallied enough to return it with a sharp grin of her own. "I don't do details. Iris, why don't you tell it?"

"What, me?" Iris asked, flushing as everyone turned to look at her.

"Yeah," Bernice seconded. "I mean, you're the one that's gonna be a writer."

"Um, yeah, but -"

"The story goes," Morgan interrupted, loud and pretentious, "that around the turn of the Twentieth Century, there was a cult in town that believed you could gain eternal life if you sacrificed someone who was a descendent of Jesus Christ. The man who ran the cult found a woman whom he believed to be one, and he performed a ritual with her in that circle that involved raping her before he killed her.

"Her soul, however, lashed out and killed him as well. Now they're both trapped in that circle, and the woman hates men with a passion after what happened to her, and the man hates women just as much. Anyone who goes near the stone circle has to be one their guard," she concluded.

It was rather amazing, Sam thought, that Morgan seemed completely oblivious to the displeased and irritated glances her friends were giving her. He glanced over to Iris to see how she took it. The girl's expression was a cross between relieved and hurt until she noticed him looking at her. She twitched the corner of her mouth upwards and shrugged one shoulder.

Dean gave a low whistle. "That is some creepy shit," he paused dramatically before continuing, "So what were you doing at this stone circle thing if it's so weird down there?"

Sam glared at his brother for a moment before turning his attention back to Morgan. She primped a bit before speaking again and Sam couldn't help but feel a bit of irritation towards her and Dean. Dean's problem was that he was socially retarded. He couldn't ask for a simple piece of information without hamming it up. Morgan, on the other hand, seemed to be so full of herself and didn't realize that it wasn't deserved. Sam couldn't place it why he thought this about a person he had just met but there was just something about her that invited scorn and derision.

"We were trying to get in contact with the girl's spirit and set her free from her bondage to that place," Morgan replied with a thick air of mysticism. Sam could tell Dean was just narrowly resisting another eye-roll.

"Did it work?" Sam asked.

Bethany grinned mischievously, "Nope- maybe she likes the bondage."

"A girl after my own heart," Dean added with an insinuating smirk in Bethany's direction.

"Oh, no, don't git 'er started," Bernice broke in, snickering. Dean's eyebrows rose and Bethany winked. Bernice gave an exaggerated sigh and looked upwards as though there was something to save her on the ceiling.

Before the conversation could erode further, a cellphone went off. The furry guy, Harry, dug in his pockets.

"Paco's Taco Shack," he greeted into his phone as everyone else politely quieted down. "What? Hey, calm down, Danni - what?"

High-pitched, hysterical chatter floated in the silence, which had gone oddly tense. Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Had something gone wrong?

"Wait, Danni - What? What do you mean, Adrianna's dead?"

Guess so.

Bethany commandeered the phone as the rest of the group paled and looked at each other, eyes wide with fear and concern. "Dannielle, where are you?"

There was some more shrieky noises from the phone before Bethany continued.

"Dannielle, I need to you to do a few things for me, okay? I need you to calm down and climb back up the stairs. Then walk over to the emergency blue phone. Call campus security. You can freak out on them as much as you want. Let it all out on them. After that, I need you to sit down on the benches and wait. Just wait. We'll be there before the cops get there. I'm going to hand the phone back to Harry and he's going to stay on the line the entire time. Okay?"

There was a quick squeak and then Bethany tossed the phone back to Harry. She stood and faced the group.

"Who's got a car here?" she demanded.

Bernice and Dean both raised their hands. Bethany looked a little surprised at Dean's unstated offer, but didn't question it.

"Betha, what the fuck's going on?" Iris asked, pale and grim.

"I don't really know. Adrianna's... been hurt, or maybe she's dead," Bethany said. "Now, we're all going to get in the cars and get our asses to campus. Right now."

As she grabbed her little, black backpack, Bethany caught their server's attention, "Ewok- we've got to book out now. Put it all on our tab and we'll swing by tomorrow to take care of it."

Ewok watched as the unusually quiet group got their things and began streaming out of the building. "No charge."

Sam threw some money down on the table and followed Dean out to the car. His brother looked as tired as Sam felt, but still alert despite the lack of sleep. They shared a here-we-go-again look, and threw open the back doors on the Impala.
"Got room for three," Dean said.

"Thanks, so, so, sooo much," Iris said as she ducked past Sam and into the car. Morgan slipped in beside her and Bethany followed with a quick nod of thanks.

Sam and Dean slid into their seats and slammed the doors behind them. The other three people had already piled into a beat-up Corolla and sped off. The Impala roared to life and followed them out of the parking lot.

To Be Continued When We Bloody Well Feel Like It...