(A/N: Hey there again, thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciate it. Hope your liking this so far. Sorry I couldn't fit in any Jo/Dean this chapter, but they will definitely meet next chapter. Also, I think my OC will travel to America soon. If anyone has a suggestion of a cool car for her to drive, please tell me. I'm trying to leave out the swearing as much as possible, but then again, this show is not all that well-mannered…..Dean, polite……snickers Anyway, I'd love to here more reviews, it makes me happy….and a happy welshbabe is a writing welshbabe…wink wink)
Margam Abbey, South Wales, U.K.
I looked on as the Pastor gave his sermon to the small crowd of people huddled around the grave of my once mentor and friend. Tears poured down my face, mixing with the dreary raindrops, a fitting sombre atmosphere. It had been under two weeks since Max's sudden death. The coroner concluded that he was stricken by a heart attack. But I knew it was her.
It's been just over a year since Max gave his soul to save mine. I truly thought we had escaped, that he would be around forever, hunting with me. But it seems I was wrong. The deal maker gave him one year for the return of my life. That was my stupid mistake; I knew it was my fault – I had died and he cared too much to let me go. Now I couldn't save him; it felt like my heart was breaking as the pall bearers slowly dropped the casket into the grave.
People began to disperse, but I lingered on. The gravediggers engulfed the coffin in earth, stealing my last chance of hope to bring him back. I dropped a necklace that he had given me into the cavernous hole, a delicate silver crucifix, taking one last look before turning back towards the dirt path that was now a sea of sludge from the downpour. I trudged over the muddy grass to my car, opening the door, when I heard a voice call out. Turning to the sound I saw a tall, slim man walking briskly towards me. On closer inspection he had a drawn face that included a pair of narrow inset eyes, and stern lips.
"Ah, Ms. Curtis, I'm glad I could catch you here. I have a few legal matters to discuss with you because of Mr. Charles' untimely death." He relayed once he arrived within speaking distance; he had a nasal voice to match his pinched features.
"And you are?" I asked, unsure if Max had been in trouble with the law.
"Of course, I'm sorry, my name is Alistair Stewart and I handle Mr. Charles' Estate."
"He had a will? You must be mistaken, I didn't know he even had any possessions." I replied surprised, as Max had never spoken of his family and had only a few relatives still alive. We always lived out of the car or the nearest Inn.
"I assure you, that Mr. Charles did have property and assets," he retorted, "In the event of his death, he insisted that I contact you with his effects. I think we should continue this conversation in my office. Would you mind following my car?" he asked with determination, I complied.
I parked in front of a classic English cottage with a rickety sign advertising the legal offices within. Stepping out of my car, I walked towards Alistair, who was waiting beside the large wooden door.
"This way please," he ushered me in, directing me past the reception to the farthest office, which was scattered with loose papers and legal texts it seemed from numerous years. He sat me down in the only chair available and placed himself behind a cluttered desk. Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers, delicately resting his chin on top. "As you might already know, Ms. Curtis, Maxwell had very few living relatives. I have already contacted and imparted their items; you are the last of his beneficiaries."
I sat silently listening to his well rehearsed speech about his condolences. I was still amazed by the fact that Max had money, but he was the kind of man to save something for a rainy day; even though he lived the life of a vagrant. I snapped out of my musings, noticing that Alistair had asked me something.
"Sorry sir, I missed your question." I blurted out, embarrassed that I got caught daydreaming.
"Of course, Miss," he replied disdainfully, a little offended by my lack of concentration, "I was asking if you were ready to review the will?" I nodded.
He stood and began to rummage through a couple of paper piles until he managed to remove a briefcase from underneath one of the more precarious ones. It definitely looked like it had seen better days. Yet, my attention was soon drawn to the folder he removed and laid open on his desk.
"Along with the materials effects that I have kept for Mr. Charles, he has left a house on the Gower coast, an apartment in New York, his car, and the sum of 11.3 million dollars in various bank accounts." He finished and resumed his earlier position, his eyes scanning my reaction to this statement.
I was dumbfounded; I sat there motionless, my mouth agape, trying to process this incredulous information. Finally, I muttered, "That's impossible."
"Actually, it is entirely accurate. Shall I present you with the keys and effects?" I nodded numbly, at which point, he handed me a hefty package.
Route 66, U.S.A
The moon cast an eerie light onto the highway that stretched out for miles. The only sounds, coming from the two roaring engines of the impala and Bobby's truck as they sped across the barren dry land towards their destination. Dean was changing the tapes for the third time; the best of Metallica began to stream through the speakers when Sam turned to him.
"Alright Dean, are we going to talk at all or will it be silence for the rest of the drive. I'm kind of getting tired of the cold shoulder." Sam muttered as he shifted into a more comfortable reclining position, which was difficult with his tall frame. Dean shifted his eyes to Sam's awaiting gaze before shrugging and focussing on the road again.
"What's there to say Sammy, Demon's dead, and we're hunting, as usual. You know I'm not into that heart to heart crap," he shifted awkwardly.
"Oh come on, stop avoiding things," Sam was getting agitated, my brother will never learn, he cursed. "The Demon may be dead, but what about everything else. You sold your soul and only have a year left, there are hundreds of demons let loose, dad's out of hell, and we have no idea where to get help; do we even know how many hunters are left!"
Dean cringed as Sam's voice escalated to the point of rage, "Cool it," he shouted back. "Can't you at least relax for a little bit, enjoy the scenery. You did die in case you'd forgotten already. Might wanna, you know, wake up and smell…flowers or something…you know what I mean." Dean gave his little brother his trademark smirk. "Hey, we might even get a little more time with the ladies, you sure need to loosen up a little more." Sam tried to reply but was cut off by Dean cranking the radio up. Sam just looked on in annoyance as Dean started to sing 'Enter Sandman', "You can't duck out of this one, Dean – we will talk."
"Sorry Sammy boy, CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Dean shouted over the lyrics, laughing and mouthing the words. However, Dean knew Sam was right and he was beginning to fear that his actions were finally catching up with him.
The Roadhouse
Jo had been driving for the last day, unable to stop for anything except gas. She was worried about the phone call she received just yesterday. Her mother sounded afraid; she hoped that what she found would be salvageable. For the first time in a while, she prayed, hoping her mother was safe, that someone had helped her. At first she thought to call Dean for backup, but she soon rejected that idea.We definitely didn't end on good terms last time, she thought bitterly. Turning up the radio, she found that it was currently playing one of her favourite songs, 'Can't Fight This Feeling', and smirked. "Damn right REO." She muttered.
About 20 minutes from the Roadhouse she shut off her headlights and started slowing down. She knew if her mother called, it would be dangerous; they were currently on shaky terms and Ellen never called for no reason. Easing the car to a halt at the end of the lane, Jo quietly opened the door. Turning to the passenger seat, she reached over, removing a sawed-off shotgun and a long hunting knife. Checking the rock-salt rounds, she slung the gun over her shoulder and sheathed the knife through her belt. The sun was setting as dusk was fast approaching; she scouted the area for anything out of place. Rounding the bend, she came face to face with the smouldering remains of the roadhouse. The fire had long since gone out, leaving a pile of ash and wood. Jo frantically ran full speed towards the rubble.
"MOM….where are you…MOM," Jo screamed, pulling apart the charred blocks of wood and scrounging for any sign of movement. Suddenly, she noticed something glinting in the last rays of sunshine. Coming closer, she saw it was a watch, attached to a scorched arm. Jo stood up, lips trembling. "Ash?" she whispered, backing up. She glanced around, realizing that she had dropped her shotgun long before. Searching in the debris, she didn't notice the shadows approaching.
"Looking for this babe?" said a sneering voice from behind. Jo snapped around to find five people sauntering towards her in a semi-circle. The leader, a lean, dark-haired pale woman, stepped ahead of the rest, holding the gun.
Jo backed away slowly, looking for an escape. "What's it to you? Who are you?"
"Friends," the woman replied. She quickly aimed and shot Jo square in the leg, causing her to collapse onto the charred remains of the building. Jo moaned and attempted to sit up.
"Bastards!" Jo seethed, scrambling away with her arms dragging her body weight. The leader ran up to her, pinning her down with one knee.
"Tut-tut girlie, now play nice." She said, smacking the butt of the shotgun across Jo's face. Two of the men picked up the unconscious girl and tossed her into the back of the pick up.