Disclaimer: Crap, I haven't had to think of a new way to say no in a looong time... wonder if I can still do it?

A/N: One day I was innocently walking my dog down the road when suddenly a space ship hovered over top of me and landed directly in front of me. Was scared?-- oh no!, I was curious. Then small purple aliens came down a plank and walked up to me and a my dog. They asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. Well, I had nothing else to do for the afternoon, so naturally I said yes and followed my new friends into their ship. They took me to every planet, and told me about a distant 'Earth' that's called 'Viagra' where there's a bunch of really tall people that are always too busy to pay attention to their visits. Finally they brought me back to earth and I continued on my treck to my house with my dog in tow. I got inside, and what would you know!-- four months had passed! I couldn't believe it, and so knew I had to rush up to my room to post a new story for my dwindling and deprived readers...
Ok, it was either that, or that I've been increadibly stressed and busy for the past four months. Your choice.

Title: Superman
Genre: My usual-- suspense and angst... and supernatural.
Summary: A spirit who used to pick up and then kill hitch hikers, continued his trend after he's killed... and this time he's taken Sam.
This story is proudly dedicated to Chantal-- my 600th reviewer!! Thanks so much!!

Superman

Dean looked at the gorgeous woman in front of him. She dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, however her hair flowed down in light auburn curls in a way that Dean imagined would have taken hours to do. Any other time Dean would have been hitting on her in a heartbeat, but the situation was far too serious to even think of doing that.

"Chantal you said your name was?" Dean questioned as he turned his attention away and hovered over the open trunk.

"Y-Yes," Chantal hugged her arms close to her chest, shivering though she wasn't cold.

Dean forced himself calm as he searched for some weapons and his Dad's journal, "Alright Chantal, tell me what happened again," he spared a look to the frightened woman, "And don't leave anything out."

"But it's not real," silent tears crept down Chantal's face as she looked over at the fading sun, "…it can't be real."

Dean sighed, "Listen-- it's real. Everything you thought was just stories is real. This thing is real, and it has my brother. So I need you to tell me what the hell happened."

"Ok," Chantal's voice wavered, "I… umm, four hours ago I was driving home from work and suddenly the radio started going… weird. It started going in and out of the station and-- I don't know-- mixing the songs. The car sputtered and started to steer funny, so I pulled over, thinking that there was something wrong with the car."

"And that's when Sam came?" Dean questioned.

"Yes," Chantal nodded, "He drove up in this car, and told me that he'd give me a ride home."

Dean held a fistful of papers in his hand as he nodded, "Alright. Sam called me when he saw you pull to the side of the road. He was following you. But-- that's the last I heard of him. What happened next?"

Chantal swallowed hard, "I got in the car with him, and he started asking me questions about my car. Asked me when I bought it, who I bought it from, for how much. At first I thought he was going to try and sell me a new vehicle, but then… then he asked me if anything strange had been happening when I drive it."

"And?" Dean prodded, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt.

"I've only had the car for just over two weeks," the tears continued to fall down Chantal's face, "I thought that it just had… kinks to work out. I don't understand though, what's happening?"

"What happened next?" Dean pushed.

"We traveled for a while down the road when suddenly another car was facing us," Chantal's voice shook, "I could tell Sam was nervous, and was trying to get to his phone," she paused and looked at Dean's worried face, "To phone you. But the other car was going too fast, and he couldn't avoid it. We- we ended up in the ditch. Sam made sure I was ok, then went to the trunk to grab something-- I didn't see what. He told me to stay in the car, and that he was going to go check out the other vehicle which had pulled to the side of the road a little ways past us. I-I watched him in the mirror but he went out of view. Then I heard a scream and what sounded like a loud gun going off. When… when I got out to look, both the other vehicle and Sam were gone."

Dean looked carefully at Chantal, "You're not saying something Chantal… what else?"

Chantal shook her head, "No… none of this… this can't be real…"

"What?" Dean didn't try and hide his lacing anger.

Chantal took another deep breath and closed her eyes, "I could swear that the vehicle coming towards us was my car. It-it even had a troll hanging from the mirror which I'd hung there yesterday. And… there was no driver."

"Damn it," Dean looked down at the paper's which he'd retrieved, "Ok Chantal… I'm going to tell you something, but lets skip past the whole 'oh my God, your insane' speech to the 'what can I do?' speech."

"…ok?"

"There's a spirit attached to your car," Dean stated bluntly, "A guy named Aaron Martin used to own it, and would pick up hitchhikers. He was killed trying to rob some random store the other month, and since his car was sold, three people have been killed by a vanishing hitchhiker." Dean raised his eyebrows, "Recall how many previous owners you were told this car had?"

Chantal swallowed, "…f-four."

Dean wiggled four fingers, and counted them off, "Our man, Aaron Martin. Cynthia Mart, twenty-seven, died from a stab wound to the stomach. Karla Kirk, eighteen, died from a stab wound to the stomach. And finally Morgan Green, thirty-two, died two days after being stabbed in the stomach by what he described as "a disappearing man". There was a reason you got this car so cheap."

"There's…" Chantal hiccoughed, "..I just…" she took a deep breath, "What can I do?"

A smile tugged at Dean's features, "Well first thing is finding my brother. Aaron was the physical type, and liked to take his victims into the woods to take his time. Did you see anything at all?"

Chantal shook her head, "No. I just heard the scream."

Dean sighed at looked around, running his hand roughly down his face, "Alright… I can't leave you on the side of the road because if he… if he finishes… he might come back."

"You want me to go with you?" Chantal asked, her eyes growing wide.

"Yeah," Dean spoke, then added at her scared expression, "It'll be ok."

"I don't know how to fight off dead people!" Chantal cried out, "Who do I look like, Ghostbusters?"

This got a smile out of Dean, "Alright, I'll give you a simple lesson. Spirits… or ghosts; they don't like salt, or iron," Dean grabbed out his shot gun to which Chantal took a step backwards, "This has salt in it," he took out a machete, "This blade is made of iron," he handed it to her, "Swing at anything that isn't me or my brother. Got it?"

"You really are nuts," Chantal whispered taking the weapon.

"Oh Sweetheart, you haven't seen anything," Dean grinned flirtatiously, "Now just stay directly behind me."

Chantal nodded, and breathing in the cool evening air, Dean walked down the highway to where Chantal said the other car had stopped. Looking both ways, Dean noticed that the woods to the left appeared to have broken branches and looked roughed up.

"Come on," Dean walked into the ditch and into the trees; pulling out his flashlight to pan the way.

"So… you and your brother do this?" Chantal questioned quietly, "You go after these things?"

"Something like that, yeah," Dean kept his eyes and ears alert for any sound.

"What will you do when we find it?"

"Well first thing will be to get the son of a bitch away from Sam, and then get you somewhere safe," Dean explained the plan which he was making up as he went along, "Then Sam and I will find the grave of this Aaron guy and burn his bones."

"Why?" Chantal, as well looked around as they stepped through the bush, "Will that get rid of it for good?"

"So the story goes," Dean smirked.

Abruptly, the two stepped into a large clearing. Panning the flashlight around, Dean saw an old looking wooden house with a rotten porch. Every window seemed broken, and the moonlight which spread onto the building showed off its peeling exterior. Quickly Dean placed his hand out to stop Chantal's movement, and to cue her to be quiet. It didn't take long for Dean to hear a muffled sound coming from within the house.

"Come on," Dean whispered, his heartbeat quickening, "And stay close."

Chantal wordlessly nodded as she followed Dean's stealth movements towards the front door. They had just made it onto the rotting planks of woods when the figure of a man appeared beside Dean with a knife in his hand.

"Look out!" Chantal cried, swinging her machete at the spirit.

With a small yell, the spirit disappeared into the wind just as Dean spun around.

"Thanks," Dean panted, "You're pretty good with that."

Chantal blushed slightly, "Thanks."

Much more cautiously, Dean walked all the way to the front door before calling out, "Sam!?" he looked back at Chantal and repeated the instructions from before, "Stay close."

Chantal nodded as the two entered the house.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted out.

A muffled sound came from the room to their left, and taking two large steps, Dean walked to the doorframe. What he saw inside caused Dean's blood to run cold through his body. Sam sat tied and gagged in a chair; his button down shirt completely undone revealing a cut up chest and stomach. Blood ran cleanly down onto his brother's jeans and Dean's heart skipped a beat as he saw silent tears of pain marking their way down Sam's face.

The spirit of Aaron Martin now stood behind Sam; his knife pointed at the younger Winchester's throat.

"It's ok Sammy," Dean swallowed, "I'm here."

Sam's eyes were wide as he stared at his brother.

"Oh my God…" the whisper from behind him reminded Dean that he wasn't the only rescuer there.

Dean pointed the gun at Aaron, "One of us isn't getting out of here alive. And seeing as how you're dead already, I'm guessing it's going to be you."

Dean paused a moment, giving Sam a look. Slowly Sam nodded his head, Dean echoing the movement.

Keeping a steady aim on the spirit the hunter turned his head partially to Chantal and whispered, "Just don't hit me or Sam," he then shouted loudly out towards his brother, "Duck!" Sam pulled his head down as far as possible at the same time Dean squeezed off a round at the spirit. Aaron disappeared just in time and Dean took the time to bound fully into the room, and pull out a knife. Firstly the older brother pulled the gag out of Sam's mouth.

"Dean, look out!" Sam's first words pierced the air as a loud gush of wind blew through the room.

Dean swiveled around from his position on the floor to see Aaron once again reappearing in the room. Before he even had a chance to grab the shotgun, Chantal's machete sliced through the torso of the spirit.

"That's two I owe you," Dean grinned.

"Lets try not to make it three," Chantal half smiled, a scared expression planted on her face.

Dean laughed as he sliced through the final rope holding Sam to the chair. Cringing at the blood that still came down from his torso, Dean helped Sam into a standing position, supporting him securely with one arm while clutching the shotgun in the other.

"Alright, lets go," Dean quickly stating, hoping that Aaron would stay away for just a little longer.

His wish almost came true as the spirit showed itself once more outside in the clearing. A single shot from the shotgun hit Aaron square in the chest, sending it once again into a loud disappearing act. With Sam's hisses of pain piercing the air, the three started through the brush.

"Almost there Sam," Dean reassured.

Just as Dean was beginning to wonder which would happen first; his brother passing out, or Aaron reappearing, they broke through to the road. The first good luck of the night happened as they came out almost directly beside the car, and not wanting to drag his little brother around to the passenger side door, Dean simply opened the backseat and helped Sam sit.

"Watch out for Aaron," Dean instructed Chantal, "If you see him, yell."

"Ok," Chantal nodded and stood poised by the hood of the Impala.

Quickly Dean went to the trunk, opened it, and grabbed out an old bag which the brother's used to keep medical supplied in.

"Alright Sammy," Dean dreaded looking at the extent of Sam's injuries as he bent down in front of him, "How are you feeling?"

Sam gave a sarcastic smile, "Wonderful."

Dean relaxed slightly at this, "Can you stand?"

Sam wordlessly nodded and Dean moved back to let him stand. Clenching his jaw at the pain, Sam fully stretched out his injured body. Breathing deep, Dean pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, and poured it down the front of Sam's chest. Any other time, he may have laughed at the consequential soaking of the front of Sam's pants, but the large, harsh slice marks that became prominent at the rinsing away of the blood only caused Dean to feel worse.

"Damn it Sam…"

Sam looked down, "Just pack it up. It'll be fine; I'll clean it better back at the hotel."

"I think we should stop by the hospital dude," Dean shook his head as he held a large piece of gauze against the wounds.

"It's fine," Sam dismissed, "We have to get out of here right now before the bastard comes back."

"Sam, you're hurt," Dean packed on more of the gauze, "If that gets infected then--"

"--then at least we won't be dead from some knife happy spirit because you were playing nurse at the side of the road," Sam smiled fully now.

"Alright," Dean smirked as he stuck the gauze in place, "But if you die, I'm not going to your funeral."

"That's ok-- I didn't go to yours," Sam winced at the pressure.

"Ok," Dean cleared his emotions as he looked back over to Chantal, "You can get in now, and we can get the hell away from here."

Both driver and passenger got into the car moments before Dean sped down the dew stricken highway. Wanting to check Sam out properly as soon as possible, Dean wasted no time in finding out where Chantal wanted to be dropped off, and less than half an hour after leaving their secluded spot on the highway they sat in front of a nice looking house.

Dean turned towards the woman who he wished he had met on any other night, "…thank you Chantal."

"No," Chantal shook her head, "I didn't do anything but watch you save my life."

"And my brother's," Dean added in, "And you helped in that one. You are an amazing woman; I just wish you didn't have to find out about all of this to find that out."

"It's a good thing I found out," Chantal smiled at both Dean and then Sam.

Sam frowned, "How do you mean?"

Chantal looked sincere as she spoke, "Because now I know that there are people like you out there protecting everyone else from the bad guys. You're just like a real life Superman…"

It was two and a half hours later before the Winchester brother's were sitting relaxed in their hotel room. After having Dean put in nearly fifteen stitches and then showering, Sam felt much better; a relief to the older brother who finally let himself relax.

Carefully Sam laid down on the bed, "Remind me not to pick up any hitchhikers."

Dean rolled his eyes as he glanced over at his bare-chested brother, "How are you feeling? You alright?"

Sam nodded, "I'll be fine. He had only just started to have fun when you two showed up."

Dean tried not to visualize what would have happened if they'd showed up any later, "Yeah, well that Chantal chick-- she was rocking that machete."

"Yeah, she looked like she knew what she was doing," Sam agreed, "It's just weird about what she said. Being glad she knew," Sam laughed lightly, "Apparently we're like Superman."

"No, no, no little brother," Dean flicked on the television, "We aren't like Superman. I'm like Superman. You're Lois Lane."

The End.