- get away -

Two days and two hundred bucks worth of crappy gas mileage later, Dean and Sam found themselves at the tall, iron gates of what could be colloquially described as the creepiest shithole on the face of the planet.

Now, Dean had been to a lot of crazy, creepy towns, but he had a feeling that this was one for the books. As the Impala rolled up to the entrance, the gates creaked with age, and it took Dean a moment to recognize that they were automated and they weren't, in fact, haunted. Still, they made a new, horrible sound with every agonizing inch they moved, and they took so long to open that by the time they ceased vibrating, Dean's head felt empty, which only made the silence that more disturbing.

"What, they fire the maintenance guy?" Dean griped as he pressed down on the gas, prepared to shoot straight past the rickety gates. Sam made an indeterminate noise of acknowledgement, but before they could advance any further, he perked up, looking at something outside the window.

"Wait, Dean, stop." He gestured wildly, pointing towards something at the foot of the gate, lurking in the tall grass. "Look at this."

It was a sign, clearly hand-made and somewhat old and weather beaten. It was no wonder Dean hadn't seen it before, since its worn tan blended in with the yellow Indiana grass around it. But now that he was looking, the words painted across it, in large, ominous letters, were clear as day.

"Welcome to Hell's Gate number one," Sam read aloud, raising his eyebrows. They exchanged a look. "Well. At least we know we're in the right place."

ooo

The actual town of Cerebral, Indiana was about twenty minutes down a creepy-ass road, along which ran six more rusty gates that made noises Merzbow would be jealous of. Each had a sign labeling them as Hell's Gates numbers two through seven. After the fourth gate, Sam pulled out his magic iPad and found some magic WiFi, and by the time they reached the first signs of actual human life, had done a Google search on the so-called Gates of Hell.

"So, get this," Sam started. "These aren't the only Hell's Gates around. Hell's Gates are actually kind of an urban legend phenomenon- there are literally hundreds of them across the United States. There are usually seven of them and the whole idea is that if you drive through them all starting at midnight, a 'gate' to hell will open up and you'll either get sucked in or let something out."

"Then why would anyone want to drive through them?" Dean growled.

Sam shrugged. "Not many people do. It's mostly drunk college students or conspiracy theorists," he said.

"So is it true?" Dean asked brusquely. "Can you actually drive through them and end up in hell's lobby?"

Sam chortled. "Uh, no. At least, it's not really something I'd waste my time on. Not in this town."

Puzzled by his wording, Dean frowned. "What do you mean, 'not in this town?" he demanded.

Sam sighed, and pulled up a page on his iPad, scrolling through it for a few seconds before responding. "There haven't been any violent deaths in this area for twenty years. No suspicious crimes, no mysterious survivors- maybe a little, um, inbreeding, but there's nothing remarkable about the town." Just as the words left Sam's mouth, they passed the seventh sign. "Well, except for those."

"Then why are we even here? I get the feeling Crowley's just sending us on some wild goose chase. It's not like he hasn't done it before," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, but if he is right, Dean, then we could be facing something really serious. If someone is… 'mass releasing' demon deals, but the souls released haven't turned up… what are they doing with the deals?" Sam responded, putting on his 'voice of reason' tone.

Dean pulled a face. He hated it when Sam was right. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It's suspicious," he grumbled. "Look, there's the town. Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Let's get some pie."