More Than a Feeling

Chapter 10

"Shouldn't we take my truck?"

Dean stopped with his hand on the driver's side handle and half-glared at Ruthie. Had he misjudged her? What was her problem with Baby?

She seemed to shrink under his gaze. "What? I just thought it would be better on the snow."

"She's right, Dean," Sam said. "I'm lucky I made it down."

Dean glanced from one of them to the other. "Alright," he said. "I'll drive." As the other two headed back toward the truck, he gave his car a comforting pat. "Sorry, Baby. I'll be back soon."

Ruthie took the back seat of the cab and Sam rode shotgun. As Dean revved the engine, Sam turned to face Ruthie. "I meant to tell you, thank you." He jerked his shaggy head toward Dean. "For taking care of him."

She nodded. "You're welcome. I'm just glad I found him in time."

Dean pictured himself, lying there on the ground, slowly being buried alive under feet of snow. He resettled himself in his seat to disguise a shiver. He really was lucky she'd found him. Then a new question popped into his head. "How did you get me inside?"

"I used the wheelbarrow."

Sam swiveled toward Dean with an open-mouthed grin. "She put you in a wheelbarrow?"

Ruthie shrugged. "I didn't have a lot of options."

Sam threw his head back and laughed. "I can see it. Oh, man. You have to reenact it when we get there."

"Or not." Dean jabbed the radio's power button. The signal wasn't great, but the melody of "More Than a Feeling" was unmistakable. A smile pulled at his mouth. Eyebrows raised, he looked at Ruthie in the rearview again. "Boston, huh?"

She raised her chin. "My daddy raised me right."

"Yes, he did." Dean grinned and turned up the volume. Before long, even Sam joined in their enthusiastic, off-key singalong.

As they approached Ruthie's cabin, though, the mood in the cab grew solemn. Dean turned down the radio. "So, Sam, about that second wolf. It might not be there anymore."

"What? Why?"

"I ran out of silver bullets. I hit it with Ruthie's shotgun and got her outta there."

Sam stared at him, then shrugged. "Okay. So we find it."

Dean glanced at Ruthie again. She held his gaze. She seemed okay, so he went on. "The guy who helped you out this morning. His name was Vern. He made it to the cabin. The wolves were there for me. They got him." Dean clenched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Like he'd almost told Ruthie: helping the Winchesters rarely ended well for anyone.

After a moment, Sam turned to Ruthie. "You knew him?"

She nodded. "He was a friend of my dad's."

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

"Thank you." She swallowed, but did not cry.

Dean let out a quiet breath, surprised at how relieved he felt—at how much he didn't want to see her cry. He cleared his throat. "So, I'm thinking we take care of the one in the house, then we go find his pal, if he's gone. And Ruthie can report finding Vern." He braked and turned the truck onto the snow-covered gravel drive. The small white truck that had been behind Vern's tractor was gone. Damn. He should've taken the battery, but he was too focused on getting Ruthie out of there and finding Sam. Now how were they going to find the werewolf?