First off, thank you all so much for the great reviews, they really do mean alot to me. secondly, sorry i didnt really describe what the FTRA actually was, i always forget that some urban legends arent as widely known as others.
anyway, here is a little recap: the FTRA stands for freight train riders of america, and it was first started by a group of homeless vietnam vets in a bar in the washington state in the 80s. it was just a group of friends that decided to name themselves, but over time it has changed. though many, many people say that the group doesnt exist at all, some people claim that it does and it is very well organized, and resposible for many deaths and disappearences. but, to this day, there is still no solid proof of the group's existance, or any evidence to link it to any violence at all. So really, it is a modern day urban legend and some people even claim that it was made up to try and scare people away from freight-hopping.
so, once again, that you all for the great reviews, and as always, let me know what you think. :)
IN TRANSIT
Chapter 2
Sam watched the trains running through the yard, staring down each and every machine like it was his life long enemy. He hadn't figured out anything new is his mad dash of research, and, instead of making Dean rethink the hunt like a normal person, it didn't seem to phase the older man one bit. Sam just wished he could find some way to get his older brother to listen to reason, to get his head out of the clouds for just a little while. But Dean was like a dog with a bone when he found a hunt, and Sam knew there was nothing he could do about it.
But Sam just didn't know why his brother was so gun ho about this hunt in particular. He knew his brother liked to move around, knew the older man had trouble staying in one place, but there was a very thick and visible line between traveling and freight-hopping. And it was a line Sam didn't want to cross. There were just too many things that could go wrong, too many dangers that had nothing at all to do with whatever the hell they were actually hunting.
Despite everything, though, the youngest Winchester still found himself standing in the cold and dreary yard waiting for the next train to come roaring in before him. The impala was safely stowed away and his big brother was standing next to him, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Oh yes, there was no turning back now, no calling a do over. They were going to do this, whether he liked it or not.
"Ready, Francis?"
"Stow it, dude."
"You're not still worried, are you?"
"No, Dean, of course not. I mean, we still know nothing about this hunt, but what's there to worry about." Sam mumbled sarcastically, the sound of the nearing train making his heart beat faster.
"Well, at least you're not still worried." Dean smirked, turning towards the approaching train. He hiked the duffle further up on his shoulder, preparing to board the roaring beast.
Sam just sighed, keen eyes searching the yard around him as the locomotive made its way down the tracks. He and Dean were hidden behind a large pile of logs, the pre-dawn light sending shadows creeping across the gravel around them. But Sam knew that he and his brother weren't the only ones hiding in the shadows. If he had to guess he would have to say that there were probably at least a dozen other people hiding out in the train yard, all trying to avoid the police, and each other, as they hitched a ride on the incoming train.
It was a recipe for disaster, and Sam could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They really had no idea how many people this thing had killed, or exactly when it had started. And that was the trouble when hunting in a transient community. Ghosts followed patterns, were born out of the places they had been, the routines they had become accustom to. But now all that was gone, missing from this world, and Sam didn't know quite how to take it. After all, if it was a spirit, there was no way of knowing where it was buried, or even if it was buried. The life of freight-hoppers was a life lived on the edge of existence, on the very outskirts of society. And the youngest Winchester had to admit that it was a lot like the life of a hunter, and he could suddenly see why it was so appealing to his brother.
Dean needed to roam, needed to be free, it was something in his very blood and bones. And Sam was sure it was something that was there even before their father became a hunter. Dean was just a natural nomad, his life on the road defining him, shaping him, making him who he was. Dean needed the rumbled of an engine beneath his feet, needed the wind against his face, the big sky above his head. And, even though he had that, Sam knew that everyone in the world yearns for something different, yearns to spend just a little bit of time outside of their normal lives. And for Dean, the only thing that offered him the space and freedom he needed beside hunting, was freight-hopping.
Sam relaxed a little as he looked back over his brother, seeing the eager man in a different light. Dean had given him so much, the least he could do was give him something back, give him something he had obviously wanted for a very long time. Because, Sam knew, that while he craved normal, his brother craved adventure.
"Alright, you remember what I told you?" Sam began, both brothers inching their way towards the tracks. The twenty two year old had spent half the night scouring every web site he could find about freight-hopping safely. Well, as safely as anyone can board a moving train. He had then spent the other half of the night trying to get a very giddy Dean to memorize every move he was supposed to make. Because Sam would be damned if his brother got hurt before the damn hunt even got started.
"Yes, Dad." Dean sighed, though the smile was still visible on his face.
"Three points of contact."
"Yeah, yeah."
"That's either two hands and one foot, or one hand and two feet."
"I can count to three, you know. And besides, how fast's the thing gonna be going, like twenty miles an hour? I think I can handle it."
"Sure, Superman, it'd be like a nice little warm up jog."
"You don't think I can make it on that train." Dean stated, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm just trying to be safe." Sam began, holding up his hands in surrender.
"Twenty bucks says I get on and you don't."
"I'm not gonna bet you."
"Thirty."
"Dean, no."
"Chicken. Thirty-five."
"Would you just shut up and get ready."
"Forty."
"Dean."
"Forty-five."
"You know what, smart-ass, let's make it fifty."
"Oooo, Sammy's getting mouthy. Fifty it is, little brother. And I'm gonna want that in nice small bills."
"Dude, get your mind out of the gutter." Sam rolled his eyes, moving towards the tracks as the train barreled in on top of them.
Sam glanced around him as both he and Dean began to run town the tracks, the train still a good five hundred meters behind them but approaching fast. He could see handfuls of other people doing the same, all still masked in the pre-dawn shadows. It was like riding a roller coaster, the sound of the approaching engine was deafening, the rumble of the nearing steel causing the ground beneath his feet to quake. In mere moments they were going to have to grab hold of whatever they could and hold on, hoping that neither police, nor dangerous obstacles would be waiting in their path.
The wind that came with the locomotive nearly forced Sam to his knees, his heart beating faster and faster as he glanced at the beast beside him. He wasted no more than a second looking for the ladder before reaching out, holding onto the cold metal as tightly as he could. The instant he gripped the rung his feet were torn from the ground, his tall frame stumbling for a fraction of a second before he managed to get a foot up on a lower rung. Only then did he turn to find his brother, a smile breaking out across his face despite himself.
Dean had missed his first attempt, ending up on a ladder a good ten cars back. Sam waved at his now scowling brother, getting a one fingered salute in return before he climbed into the waiting boxcar.
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Dean cured again as he pulled himself into the boxcar, his right hand already swelling as he pulled the door shut. He didn't think he had broken it, but whatever he did, it sure hurt like hell. And Sam's cocky grin wasn't helping matters at all. After all, Dean was certain that it would be the other way around, that nervous little Sam would be the one face first in the dirt, while his cool as hell brother rode the side of the train. Well, that was the way he had always pictured it in his head, at least. But now, well now he was out fifty bucks, and a whole lot of pride.
He checked over his blue and swollen wrist again, really, really hoping that he hadn't broken it. He pulled out his small first aid kit as he sat in the dirty car, smirking at all the preparations his little brother had insisted on making. It looked like Sam had been preparing for war when he was backing both their duffles, Dean certain that they wouldn't need at least half of the junk he was stuffing into them. But then, personal first aid kits had sounded really stupid until about thirty seconds ago, so maybe the other crap Sam had somehow managed to pack into the bags would come in handy, too. Not that he would ever tell Sam that.
He had just finished wrapping his wrist in an ace bandage when his phone started to ring. "Calling to gloat?"
"Not entirely. You alright, man?"
"I'm fine." But a sudden jolt from the train, and an involuntary hiss gave him away.
"What's wrong?" Dean cursed when he heard the fear and uncertainty in his brother's voice. And if he knew Sammy, he was probably blaming himself for laughing at him a few minutes before.
"Nothing."
"Dean, what the hell's wrong with you?"
"I hurt my wrist. But, it's cool."
"Just a sprain?"
"Uh, I certainly hope so."
"How many cars back were you?"
"I have no idea, Sam, they were call kind of flying by me a little fast."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
"Look, Dean, I'm making my way back to you so just sit tight."
"Really, sit tight? I was thinking about going for a stroll."
"Would you be serious. You know if your wrist is broken we're getting off."
"No, Sam, we're hunting down this bastard, then we're getting off."
"We'll talk about it when I get there."
"You talk, I'll ignore you." But all he was met with was a huff and a dial tone.
Fifteen minutes later Sam showed up, red faced and huffing but thankfully still in one piece. The only way to move between the cars was to climb along the outsides of them and, judging by the look on his little brother's face, it wasn't something he had enjoyed doing. But, if Dean was being honest with himself, he was glad to be back in the same car as he brother.
Despite the four painkillers he had taken and the splint on his wrist, his arm was still swollen and still hurt like hell, and he was beginning to wonder if he would actually be able to move from car to car without getting himself killed.
"Hey, Sam, how's it going?"
"Peachy." He mumbled trying to flatted down his windblown mop of hair.
"Having fun yet?"
"No. Let me see your arm." Sam began, kneeling by his brother's side.
"I told you already, it's fine."
"You'd say that if it fell off."
"I would not."
"Wanna bet."
"Fifty bucks."
"I wasn't being serious. Besides, you already owe me fifty, wouldn't want to take all your money." Sam stated, slowly unwrapping his brother's wrist.
Dean tried and failed to hold back another hiss when his little brother began to poke and prod at his wrist, turning it in ways Dean was more than sure it wasn't supposed to go.
"Take it easy, Ratchet."
"Sorry. Dean, I think you broke it."
"No, it's just a bad sprain."
"Well, bad sprain or break, it's still messed up."
"Thank you, Doctor."
Sam just rolled his eyes as he re-bandaged the wrist, doing a much better job than Dean had a short time before. And, while it still hurt like hell, it was a little more bearable now that the split was properly done.
"So." Sam began, leaning back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Dean. "What's our next move?"
"We hunt ourselves a bad guy."
"This was the same line all those other people died on?"
"Same line, same train."
"Did you see anything while I was out almost getting killed?"
"Nope. EMF is nil, too."
"So, basically all we know is: one, we haven't seen it yet, two it hasn't been in here recently or the EMF would have picked it up, and three the only real clue we have is that people die of fright on this train."
"Yeah, I think we need to find some of the regulars. Did you pass anyone on your way here?"
"Uh yeah, there's a car about four back that has three teenagers in it, but I didn't really stay to chat."
"Anyone else?"
"I saw more boarding, but I don't know where they are right now."
"Alright, so first thing's first, we head back to the kids."
"No, you sit here and rest. You're gonna need your arm when we're out there."
"I'm fine, Sam. Besides, I can hang onto you if I need to."
"Oh yeah, so we both fall off a speeding train."
"In for a penny, in for a pound."
"Look. The next stop is ten hours away. Just rest for a bit, let the painkillers work there magic, and then we'll go."
"What if they move."
"They seemed pretty impressed that I was doing it, I don't think they're gonna try. They seemed fairly new at it."
"Oh great, so now we have an angry spirit, maybe killer FTRA if they exist and a bunch of kids to look out for."
"Oh yeah, this hunt just keeps getting better and better."
Both brothers sighed, leaning back and resting as they prepared to make their next move, completely unaware of the entity that was slowing moving along the speeding train.