Author's Note:

Rebekah&Meredith / Dean&Sam

Recommended Soundtrack:

Rusted Root – Send Me On My Way

The Black Ghosts – Full Moon

Goldfrapp – Little Bird

Oceanlab – On a Good Day

Chapter Two:

Route 41, Sterling, Nebraska. 8:38 a.m.

Sunday 21st September 2008.

Rebekah wound down the window and felt the cool air flood over her sun warmed body, the wind picking her hair up and tossing it around her face as she barrelled down the abandoned highway, the long grey road stretched out before her like an unravelled length of ribbon. Around them corn husks reached towards the sky, their furry spires stroking the clouds that floated lazily by on wind currents, the invisible pathways twisting and turning on the great highway of the sky, its azure bleakness yawning above her head into nothingness. As she came to the crest of a hill the air above the road would shimmer silver due to the heat of the morning sun, the road disappearing in places as though liquid mercury had been spilt across the baked tarmac. The smell of the country flooded through her open windows, immersing her in a homely comfort. She was alone, yes, but the scents of her world clung to her, the smells of cow dung, fresh hay, sweet corn and Jake's aftershave worn like badges on the lapels of her shirt, permanent reminders of home.

Beck smiled as she regarded her companion, his ears flapping wildly around his face, a grin so wide he'd catch as many flies as her bumper. Saliva trickled down his jowls, flying backwards like string as the wind caught it, some of it splattering against the back windows of the truck, others lost to the highway. When he spotted her looking at him he closed his mouth a little, slightly embarrassed at being caught looking so damn happy and carefree. Axel turned in his chair, glancing quickly at Alistair and Sky in the back, the Alsatian standing to attention as usual, the old girl lying down across the back seats with her head in her paws though, if you bothered to notice, her eyes moved beneath her lids, her ears twitching at every sound. Rebekah shook her head at her boy and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his ears quickly before returning her hands to the wheel. When she looked again, his head was back out the window, spittle cutting deep rivulets through the dust on the windows.

Kilometre after kilometre was eaten up by her wheels, the vast countryside unfolding around them, corn and crop fields unfurling into vast grounds of grazing beasts, the green and brown manicured lands reaching out into oblivion, the raised land in the distance stroking the belly of the sky on the horizon. Nothing about the roads changed, they were simply long strips of flat cutting through even flatter land. Rebekah found driving dull as anything, but the journey was not so. She loved watching the land fly past, the wind caressing her hair and her face, planting kisses on her temple if ever she dared lean out her window. The whole place smelt thick and familiar, a strong and heady perfume that clung to your clothes. No matter how many times you showered in foreign lands the scent of the country would still cling to you, woven into your hair like braids and covering you like a second skin. You could take the girl out of the country but not the country out the girl – that was what they always said.

At around quarter to nine Rebekah received another call on her private cell; unusual she thought considering the conversation she'd had last night regarding details. The young hunter sighed and, careful to make sure the road was clear, bent down to pull the earpiece from the draw beneath the dashboard, plugging her mobile into its cradle as she waited the allotted time. Three rings then silence, then another three before picking up.

"Aston family Private Line. How can I help?"

"Nebraska?"

"You have gotta' be kiddin' me," she scoffed, feeling her face light up. "Who else is it gonna' be?"

"Force of habit I'm afraid," the other woman laughed down the phone. "Where are ya'?"

"Forty One. Just got into Sterlin'. Why?"

"Pick me up?"

"Mer – I don't think that's a good-"

"Idea? Probably not. But I'm bored Beck – real bored."

"Mer-"

"Don't make me beg Rebekah Aston cus' I will – you know I will."

Beck slowed down to forty five as she entered her hometown, cattle barns and grain and water towers long behind her, farming buildings and old colonial farmhouses replaced by bungalows with white picket fences and two story family homes with lemonade and swing chairs on the porch. She nibbled her lip, hearing her best friend hum down the phone only adding to the weight of the decision. Did she want her to come? Selfishly – of course she did. But was she selfish enough to be that…

"Mer?"

"Yeah?"

"The job I'm workin' on at the moment is-"

"Dangerous?"

"Yeah and-"

"Perilous?"

"Well I guess-"

"Beck – please?"

She'd be killed. Oh God she'd be killed if she even looked at one of them the wrong way. She wasn't strong enough, she wasn't trained – she didn't even know how to load a rifle properly. And, with all this in mind, why was she still turning left down Washington Street? Rebekah pulled up at number 725 at exactly ten to nine, forehead on the wheel as she cursed herself over and over again. The little white and brown bungalow seemed far too 'normal' in a world like hers. It had a normal drive with an entirely normal basketball hoop and a normal truck parked in front of a garage that probably didn't contain the weapons arsenal hers contained at home. It was a little paradise – Suburbia in the middle of a farming nation, a little oasis of part time jobs, fences, dog walkers and kids playing in the street. And that was what Meredith Parkes should have been doing, walking the dog, doing her hair, going out and meeting her friends in Tecumseh less than half an hour down the road. Instead, Meredith Parkes wanted to join her best friend on a hunting trip because her normal life, what she was certain Jake would have given anything for her to have, was 'boring'.

"You've got five minutes."

She wouldn't let her near anyone or anything dangerous. She'd stay away from her cousins, stay away from the hunting dogs, away from the guns and the knives and the bombs and the scythes and everything else that had a sharp edge or that contained gun powder or that could explode or infect. She'd wrap Meredith in bubble wrap and keep her in the cupboard under the stairs and feed her soft food and –

"What am I doin'?" She moaned, banging her head off the steering wheel.

She watched as a backpack slid onto the drive, followed by a carry case and a pair of wellington boots. Then appeared a twenty four year old the size of a sixteen year old, clawing her way beneath the garage door because leaving out the front entrance was obviously far too easy. Her short brown hair had been tied back in a crude ponytail – either an attempt to make her look older or simply because she hadn't had time to shower that morning. She'd call it her 'hunting hair' and Rebekah would smile at the innocence of it all, knowing full well that it didn't matter how you had your hair on a hunt, if you couldn't use a gun or tell salt from sulphur you were as good as dead. The longer Rebekah observed her the more she despaired, the more she wanted to drive away and leave her best friend standing in her driveway wondering what she'd done. She struggled with her cases as she loaded them into the bed of the truck, Beck watching her in her review mirror – making no move to help. She didn't want to stand next to her and dwarf her with her five foot eight, making the parallels between her world and the world of 'Pixie' Parkes all the more apparent.

"You're gonna' to get yourself killed," she muttered as her friend slid into the passenger side, Axel offering her a kiss which she hesitantly took from chin to cheek.

"I'm not that-"

"You hunt – yes I'm aware. And yes you aren't that bad," she sighed as she pulled off the drive, making a U-turn in the middle of the road before setting herself back onto the main route. "You're fast and smart and honestly sometimes I swear you're the best Stalker I've ever met but-"

"Beck-"

"You hunt Faerie Meredith!" She snapped. "Like me – you hunt Faerie. And trolls and goblins and pixies and nymphs are all well and good but when it comes to the big leagues – you haven't got a chance Mer – I'm sayin' this as your friend."

She allowed herself to steal a glance at the girl at her side, the girl she'd grown up with. She saw a toddler in a flowery pinafore, a little girl with bunches in her hair in her school uniform – a small and frightened ten year old hiding behind a plant pot because the pixies at the bottom of her garden were pulling her hair. She'd always been small and so, so breakable, and in her twenties things hadn't really changed that much. Meredith Parkes was a pretty little bookworm with her head in the clouds, not the solider that sat beside her in the driver's seat.

"I'm not goin' after anythin' Beck – don't be ridiculous. I just wanna' tag along for the ride. You don't actually think I'd be goin' in there with you?"

"I'm just makin' sure."

"Scarin' me out of it more like," she muttered, staring out the window as they left Sterling behind, the truck obediently following the long length of Route 41 as it began to unfurl once more before them.

"You know I only want what's best for you Mer."

"You sound like my mom," she groaned.

The next half hour or so passed by in silence. Rebekah didn't dare break it with music, resorting instead to resting her head against the metal of the door column, right arm outstretched, fingers splayed in the wind, her left hand lazily resting on the wheel as they continued their journey down what had to be one of the straightest roads she had ever had the 'pleasure' to drive. Meredith seemed content to do the same, her mousy hair now down and feathered around face as she rested her head on her folded arms on the dashboard, breeze playing with the light strands and making them dance. Every now and again Beck would observe her out of the corner of her eye, watching her as she explored the space she had, the foot well a gaping hole around her legs that barely took up any room at all. She'd play absently with the feathers of the dream catcher that hung from the review mirror, rifle through old case files that sat shoved and forgotten in the shelf on the passenger door. Forty five minutes into the journey she resorted to organising them, alphabetising them, dating them, putting them into categories so that if it ever came to it the information would be readily available instead of lost within piles of loose papers and faded photographs.

"What's the job you're workin'?"

Beck looked up from the road, gone with her own thoughts, surprised to hear the usually quiet girl say something. Axel lifted his head in the back as his master rifled through her bag and dragged out a map of Nebraska and her surrounding states, passing it awkwardly across to her companion who spread it out on the dashboard in front of her. The map was covered in marker scribbles, biro footnotes and symbols and numbers, all of them relevant to her clan's past hunts in the area. She pointed to one particular mark, a faded biro circle that had been redone in blue marker.

"We're going to Brookfield in Missouri."

"Don't you have family up there?"

"Yeah – it's where we're headin'. My cousins have a huntin' lodge just outside Brookfield, and there's some sort of gatherin' there. I ain't got a lot'ta details, but from what I've gathered it's a big job. They're draftin' in."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing, simply following their route with her fingertips, bypassing dot after dot and circle after circle, some of them marked on by Rebekah, others by Jake, most of them by Joe.

"What's the-"

"Vampires Mer. We're huntin' Vampires."

She felt a funny sense of pride when her companion didn't make a sound, though she wasn't exactly sure why. Part of her thought Meredith's initial reaction was unnatural – the fact was the girl failed to react at all. She simply nodded her head as though she understood, and continued to study the map as though she'd made it her personal goal to remember every road, hill, crescent and house from Sterling through till Brookfield.

"Does that not bother you?" Beck asked finally, genuinely intrigued.

"I've been with'ya before when you hunted one – why would now be any different?"

Beck snorted, "Not a Coven Mer."

"Well – whatever."

"We'll be spendin' the day in Rock Port – just so you know," Beck offered in an attempt to change the subject. "Do you fancy a night out? I haven't seen you in ages."

Her friends face lit up slightly, much to Rebekah's satisfaction. "As in coffee shop and a book night out or drinkin' heavy and getting' wasted night out?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm guessin' the latter."

"You'd be guessin' right," she grinned.

"So-"

"I've gotta' See for them – that's why they need me. I can't drink anythin' but a lil' water every now and again for the next few days. Now or never Mer-"

"Keep your blood pure?"

"Mhmmm."

"So – the Aston Method?"

"Ha! Not quite. I won't be drinkin' that heavy Mer considerin' we've gotta' get to Saint Joseph tomorrow. Just enough to feel – not enough to forget."

"Isn't that your mantra?"

She threw a sideways smile at her friend, a girl busy flipping through an old Vampire case file she'd pulled from the organised pile at her feet, fingertips skimming the fine text of police reports and Rebekah's own tiny handwriting.

"Doesn't it depend on what mood I'm in?"

"I guess," Meredith muttered absent-mindedly, her attentions now wrapped up in unexplained disappearances, car crashes, body bags and kill counts.

The rest of the journey was pretty quiet after that, all levels of awkward animosity now absent from the truck. Rebekah knew her friend well – hell she was more of a sister to her than anything else. She was a shy, reserved being, introverted beyond anyone she'd ever met before, much preferring her own company than the company of others. But the girl was easily influenced and had an awful addiction for the type of life Beck led, 'a life off the leash' she called it though Beck never understood why. She had a leash alright – at the end of the day you had to trade freedom for something. But Meredith was beyond that, far beyond the fragile, naïve, pretty little thing people often saw on the outside. Underneath the doe eyes and the pink lips that marked her as innocent was a creature with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, facts and all manner of things. Tell her to do one thing she'd do the opposite, expect her to behave a certain way and she'd surprise you. And when that girl got hold of a book magic would happen, and those pages would be devoured like a naked flame to a batch of straw. And there it'd sit, knowledge amassed over years of reading, writing and research, all collected behind the bright blue eyes and the sweet smile – an arsenal of information. Beck could ask her anything about any one of the beasts she hunted, whether it be how to kill a Hobgoblin, how a Wendigo is formed or how to weaken a Vampire, and the girl would know. She was the only person, Rebekah could safely say, who knew everything there was to know about everything.

So in the time they had left together with regards to their journey into Rock Port, Rebekah allowed her friend to consume file after file of the cases at her feet, knowing how much it meant to her that she was allowed to step into the very fabrics of her life, even if it was just via the printed word or through handwritten text. The journals were another thing and, despite their friendship, they were things no one outside of the Aston Clan had ever had the chance to come into contact with. They were Joe's and no one else's, and that was how she intended for it to stay. Every now and again Mer would sigh, exclaim quietly under her breath or mutter a comment along the lines of 'how terrible', 'poor woman' or 'what a shame' – though nine times out of ten she'd utter something that sounded like 'interesting' or 'outstanding and often even 'brilliant'. And that was why, on the first day of kindergarten when she'd told the girl in the flowery pinafore what her family did for a living, they'd become friends immediately. Because the little girl in the flowery pinafore wasn't scared – she was morbidly and marvellously curious.

Highway 29, Missouri. 8:38 p.m.

Sunday 21st September 2008.

The road from Illinois back up to South Dakota was a long one, but not the longest they'd ever driven. They'd driven further for a lot less, and when Bobby had a lead you could bet you ass something was up. The mood in the car was something Dean hadn't really experienced before, so when it got too awkward he'd simply lean forward and turn the music up, drowning out his own thoughts as they sped up the highway, headlights illuminating the sun-baked tarmac beneath his wheels. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his brother shift in his sleep, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, head resting against the window pane, eyes flickering beneath his lids. Sam was light when it came to sleep, easy to wake, always alert – like a freakin' cat with a sleep disorder. But, when it came to him sleeping in the Impala, he slept like a rock.

Dean took the nearest exit, turning off their route and onto the road that'd lead him to Rock Port. They had a lead to pick up there, something that only added to their journey time, but it gave them a night off and that was something the Winchester boys believed they needed. They'd done the journey before a few days back, back when Dean had got out of Hell and he'd had to travel all the way back to find Bobby and then his brother. Then he'd travelled all the way back to his crash site with Sam and Bobby in tow, the crater and the ring of felled trees a far more permanent headstone than the wooden cross that had still somehow managed to survive the coming of Castiel – though that was probably down to some religious shit that Dean really didn't wanna' think about. And so Bobby had left the boys to it and driven back to Dakota a day early, and now it was their turn to pick up leads on another case and find their way leisurely back to Bobby's in (how the old geezer put it) 'their own time'. And to the oldest Winchester at the helm of his ship – that meant an overnight stay in a motel, a seedy bar and the possibility of getting laid.

He pulled into the Greenfields Motel at around five to nine, the great green neon sign bathing him in a sickly and all too familiar haze. He'd never admit it but he kind of liked the motel signs, all big and bright and easy to spot after a night out. They gave off a comforting glow whenever you'd forgotten to close your curtains or shut the blinds, and even then the light still managed to find and opening – like a night light you didn't exactly have to pay for, a different colour everywhere you went. He parked the Impala opposite to the front office, shaking his brother awake none too gently before sliding out the driver's seat, slamming the door shut on an incredibly dazed and bleary eyed Sam who looked as though he'd already had a few too many to drink despite his sobriety. Dean poked his head through the window as Sam stretched himself out, long limbs awkwardly filling what space they could as joints cracked and he yawned.

"Rise and shine Sammy."

"Where – where are we," he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"Rock Port, Missouri," the eldest chirped.

"Already?"

"Hey," he shrugged, fingering the keys in his hands, "I put my foot down. Sue me."

The bow-legged hunter was engulfed by the white light of the front desk as he disappeared through a pair of double doors, leaving the youngest alone in the car. He stretched his legs, wincing as his knees groaned in objection, legs that had grown comfortable to being bent for the past few hours, legs that now didn't seem to like the thought of straightening out. He wiggled his toes in his boots and rubbed feeling back into his ass (making sure no one was looking first), pulling his mobile out of his jean's pocket to check for messages despite already knowing the outcome. Nothing. She wouldn't call – he knew that, it wasn't her style.

"Room 18 - extra beer in the mini-fridge. If that doesn't say successful trip I don't know what does."

"Yay!" The youngest sighed, opening the car door with a shove. "My night is made."

"Sarcasm isn't gonna' get you anywhere. Now hop to it Bambi – I wanna' hit a bar before we turn in."

Dean was a dick – but he was right. His body didn't seem to be his own from his waist down, legs completely unresponsive to any order or direction, going left when he said right, going right when he said left and moving backwards when he wanted to move forwards. Yeah – he knew what he'd look like to anyone glancing out of their motel window, cheap blinds split to satisfy their curious appetites – the nosy bastards. He'd look like a drunken man with two left feet and a drug addiction, hopped up on acid and seeing the world upside down. However, his world was most certainly right side up for the time being – though he had to admit it was tilting a little to the left now that Dean had returned from Hell and Angels were involved and - well it wasn't exactly but then again when was his world ever right side up?

And so Dean and Bambi Winchester made their way up the steps to their room, Sam tripping once, seeking refuge against an old Ford Pick-up that remained strong and sturdy behind his back, keeping him upright, scaring the living fuck out of him when a monster of a dog sprang forth from the bed of the thing, barking despite his attempts to calm it. He swore repeatedly as it barked and bayed at him, ducking (stumbling) into the shadows as a bolt of light appeared halfway down the walkway, a crack in the door half blocked by a figure as it stuck its head out to check out the origins of the noise. The dog quietened almost immediately, and Sam skulked away with his tail between his legs to the sound of Dean's raucous laughter and the melodic sound of a car alarm going off somewhere in the distance.

It was going to be one of those nights.