The Hunter – Chapter 2

It was a little after midnight when Sam and Dean left the Roadhouse with Amy. They offered her a ride, seeing as she had walked there, and as they approached the Impala she let out an impressed whistle. "Sweet ride,"

Dean turned to Sam. "See dude, she has taste, why can't you appreciate my baby like that?" He then proceeded to climb into the driver's seat.

Sam shot him a look. "It's just a car, and give me the keys, I'm driving."

"Why do you get to drive my baby? She doesn't like you."

"Dean, you've been drinking, I haven't. I want to get to Amy's place in one piece," Sam hesitated before saying the next bit. "and I think…'she' does too." He motioned towards the Impala.

"Dean, dude, I think your brother's got a point," Amy said, then she added mischievously "unless you want me to drive."

Dean promptly dropped the keys into Sam's outstretched hand. "I call shotgun!" he cried before rushing to his seat.

Amy shook her head, smiling, and slid into the back seat, ready to give them directions to her house.

A short while later, the Impala pulled up in front of what was easily the biggest house either of the Winchester brothers had ever seen. From what Sam could see, it was an old mansion that looked quite well-kept. It had a classic rustic look to it, and looked like a historian's dream. "How old is the house?" Sam asked.

Amy thought. "It was built in the early 1800s and its been in my family for nearly 200 years. For most of the past century it was in my great-uncle's possession, but when he died it was passed down to my dad. He and I moved here from Lyon in France, when I was eight, as you know. And now its mine, and so is all my dad's other stuff, including the continuation of the family business."

"Look, I'd love to stay and listen in on this impromptu history lesson, but in case you haven't noticed its kinda cold out here, can we go inside?" Dean whined.

They all got out of the car, Sam and Dean grabbing their bags on the way. The then followed Amy up to the porch, noticing a plaque by the door saying 'Maison d'Angoulême.'

When they walked through into the kitchen they noticed some jars and cloth bags sitting on the table. Sam thought they looked familiar. Dean looked at them and asked "What're they for?"

Amy glanced at the table. "Those are for the poltergeist I'm gonna get rid of. A friend of mine's house is being…disturbed by one, so I'm going to go round there tomorrow or maybe Sunday and take care of it."

"Oh yeah," said Sam. "We took care of one of those back in Kansas awhile ago. Be careful, poltergeists can be tricky."

"Sam, they're not gonna take all the credit, are you?" Amy said with a cheeky grin. "I know Missouri helped."

"How d'you know Missouri?" Dean said, genuinely curious.

"Who do you think told me what to put in these bag things?" Amy walked into the lounge room and played the message on the answering machine. Sam and Dean heard a panicked female voice speaking very fast French. Amy seemed to understand it because a moment later she rushed back into the kitchen and began to putting the cloth bags into a backpack. "Sam, Dean. I have to go de-poltergeist the house now. Make yourselves at home, your rooms are up the stairs, first two doors on the right."

She moved to the door and Dean asked "Do you need a ride?"

"Nah, I've got my own car. If you want anything there's food in the fridge, feel free to watch TV, or wateva." She grabbed her keys of the hook by the door and as she was in her way out Dean asked "What kind of car do you drive?"

They heard her call "68 Mustang!" as she walked to the garage. A moment later they heard the car roar to life and drive away.

Amy got her friend, Mariette's house about 20 minutes later. The house was dark and deserted, the poltergeist having driven Mariette away earlier that evening.

As soon as Amy walked through the door, she had to jump sideways to avoid being crushed by a heavy oak desk. She then had to hide behind a lounge chair while the piano threw keys at her. She took this opportunity to kick a hole in the wall and stuff a bag inside. She then dove out of the room as the piano itself went flying the chair she had taken refuge behind.

In the kitchen she had to duck behind the table to avoid the onslaught of flying avocado paste and banana peels. She also narrowly avoided being nailed by a baked eggplant as she put another bag in the wall. She then rushed into the back bedroom.

She thought she would be safer in the bedroom among the pillows and blankets. She forgot to take into account the lamp, books, CD player and shoes as they tried to take her out. She was also almost strangled by some underwear. "Ugh, death by thong, there's a scary thought." she said. After putting the bag in the wall she rushed to her final destination.

The basement was dark and dusty. The single grimy light bulb in the centre of the room did little to chase the shadows, but the thing that creeped Amy out was the eerie calmness that feel over the room as she entered. It was as if the poltergeist was waiting for her to make the first move. She decided to move fast and hope for the best. She dived towards the far corner but as she got there the light bulb burst, sending glass flying in all directions and throwing the basement into impenetrable darkness. She started kicking a hole in the plaster, but as she felt her foot make an opening she was thrown forwards into the wall and felt a searing pain as something sharp hit her shoulder. She turned around and by the light of the door at the top of the stairs she could make out the shape of a hammer flying back at her. She grabbed the last bag off the floor and shoved it into the hole in the wall at the same time as she felt the hammer scrape her back. Hard.

Amy didn't remember the drive home. All she knew was that she somehow ended up facing her front door, fumbling for her keys. She walked in and heard Sam and Dean in the kitchen. She knew she needed help, she was sure that hammer had done some damage.

When Amy walked into the kitchen, Dean was the first to notice her. He was sitting at the table drinking coffee and Sam was leaning against the bench starring into space. The first thing Dean noticed was how pale Amy was. He started to stand when Sam snapped out of his stupor and, noticing Amy's slight grimace of pain, went over to help her to a chair. He saw the long tear in her shirt and the blood soaking the once white material. "Amy, what happened?"

He helped her to a chair as she answered. "Where do I start? A piano concerto a-la wall, flying fruit salad, attempted death by panties and a grand finale of a hammer- happy home improvement liking poltergeist that thought it was funny. I kicked its ass."

"Well it looks like it did a pretty good job of kicking yours back." Dean said. "I'll get the first aid kit." He went up to his room and returned with a small first aid kit. "Your gonna have to take that shirt off, it's ruined anyway."

Amy took off her torn shirt and sat still while Dean cleaned the cuts. There was a small cut behind her shoulder where the hammer had made its first hit and Dean held it closed with a butterfly bandage. He then moved onto the long gash that ran most of way from her right shoulder to her left hip. "This is going to need stitches. Sam, get the tequila."

Sam started to get up but Amy put out a hand to stop him. "Don't worry, I can't feel it anyway. And I don't need to add a hangover to tomorrow's pain."

Dean looked at her with a thoughtful expression. "The tequila isn't for you, it's for me." His grin quickly slid off his face as Amy visibly blanched, which was an enormous feat seeing as she had already lost a substantial amount of blood.

"I was just joking." Dean strugged and started stitching. Amy bit her lip, regretting not taking the drink. But she wasn't telling them that- she was a 'big gurl' and would not cry.

'I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.'

her silent mantra

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