Something Wicked - DW - Book 1

Chapter 5 : Just Drive

"My secret side I keep,
hid under lock and key."

Monster by Skillet

     Something about Dean Winchester put me on edge, and it was starting to get under my skin. I couldn't pinpoint it, but I had a feeling it was his relentless need to be in control.

     This was supposed to be my hunt. My jobs. My rules. Not his.

     But here I was, twisting the gold band and trying to figure out just how exactly I was supposed to convince people I was married to a man I didn't know. I wasn't even convinced it would work myself. I mean, anybody with a brain would be able to read the tension between us.

     "We're going to start at the travel station by the interstate and work our way back into town," Dean instructed as he slowly drove through the bustling little town.

     It was the definition of small-town America. General stores, diners, and little shops lined the overly decorated Main Street. Happy residents shook hands and waved at their friends along the sidewalks as they shopped. It was pretty nice to see for once as the last few days, traveling through the surrounding cities was practically like traveling through a landfill.

     "You okay?" He asked me as I stared out the window, watching the apple trees fly by.

     I nodded, not wanting to ruin the silence. It had taken me ten whole minutes to convince him to turn off the music, and now I was left with a pounding headache that even silence couldn't fix.

     "Look, I know -"

     I shot him a look, and he hesitated to finish. "Can we just not talk for a few minutes?"

     He eyed me up suspiciously, and I groaned as I clutched my head, and the oncoming migraine began to pulse behind my eyes. I rolled his window down and leaned forward as I took in the fresh air, desperate for the pain to go away.

     "You don't look too good," Dean insisted as he started to slow down, no doubt about to pull over again, so I didn't puke in his car. "Andi?"

     "I'm fine. It's just a headache." I groaned.

     I felt the car speed up, but his arm brushed past me, and I leaned back, watching as he popped open the glove box. He grabbed an orange pill bottle and dropped them in my lap.

     "There should be water in the back."

     I leaned back and saw, seeing nothing but bags of clothes and empty food containers, so I grabbed the leather flask from the seat and swigged the pills back, seething as the heat of the whiskey burned my throat. I leaned back, my eyes closed tightly, and I inhaled deeply as the fresh air whipped the loose strands of hair about my face, hoping it wouldn't take too long for this one to ease up.

     "Really?"

     I looked over at Dean, who was staring at the flask, and instead of making a nasty remark, I handed it to him. He gave me a sour look but sipped it anyway, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing. He was just like his father, but then again, I don't think I ever met a hunter who didn't drink away the nightmares.

     We drove in silence a little longer. The only time we interacted was the death glare he shot me when I reclined the seat. It had whipped back so quickly that it nearly gave me whiplash, and I pulled it back up and leaned against the window instead.

      I blinked rapidly as we continued to cruise down the highway, and I watched as the sun got lower in the sky, casting an eerie shadow over the apple orchards that stretched for miles. I couldn't help but smile, but it was cut short as a strange beeping filled the car.

    "Shit," Dean muttered. He kept his eyes on the road but leaned towards the back backseat, his hand digging around in his duffel bag for something.

     I glanced at him as he struggled to keep the car in the lane, and he nodded towards the bag, insisting I find the culprit. I sighed and turned around in the seat, heeding his warning about my boots on the leather.

     Adrenaline began pulsing through my veins as I realized it was the sound of his EMF meter. His father had the same one, and they made the same exact noise nearly every time that we had a run-in with a supernatural entity of the ghostly sort.

     "Give it to me," he demanded as he pulled the car over and got out. He held the meter in front of him as he circled the little pull-off and stopped in front of a foggy path a few feet away.

     I stepped out of the car cautiously, making sure my pistol was secured tight in my jeans, and we walked towards the path together as the meter began to whine even louder.

     "What do you think it is?"

     "If I knew, it'd be dead already."

     He chuckled.

     "Something funny?" I snapped at him, staring at the back of his head as a sense of déjà vu came over me.  I knew we hadn't been down this path before, but a chill ran up my spine nonetheless.

     "No," he said as we entered a clearing, surrounded by hundreds of apple trees blanketed in a dense fog. "I'm just starting to realize why Dad chose you over me."

     I gawked at him. "What are you talking about?"

     "Nothing, it doesn't matter." His tone changed, and he turned away from me, instantly intrigued by something I couldn't see.

     I stopped at the edge of the clearing and started up at the mangled dummy that had been nailed to a post. Dean got closer, holding up his meter from underneath it, and groaned as he put it away.

     "Is that supposed to be a scarecrow?" I asked as I stepped next to him.

     "I think so," he said as he looked around. He grabbed a ladder from a pile of barrels and leaned it up against the post. "Hold it steady."

     Dean climbed it slowly, cautious of the creature above him. There was no way this was not what we were looking for. It honestly looked like a decayed human being who had been cut up and stitched together, over and over again.

     "Dude, you fugly."

     I rolled my eyes, keeping my Jeepers Creepers comments to myself as I tried to steady as my head started to throb again.
    
      Dean ran his fingers over the dark trench coat and poked at the scythe in its hand. His finger hovered over a hole in the scarecrow's sleeve, and he rubbed his thumb over the flesh-colored patch.

     "What is that?" I asked him, not really being able to see all that well. My vision was perfect, but for some reason, every time I had a migraine, distance always got me.

     "I don't know." He pulled the sleeve back further as he examined it. "You still got that missing person flyer on ya?"

     "Which one?" I asked him. "There are like thirty of them."

     "The one you put in your pocket," he said. "The one from last year. He had that tribal tattoo on his arm."

     "Yeah," I said as I handed him the paper. "Vince Parker."

     Dean cursed under his breath, and I didn't even need to look to know what was going on.

     "I think we just found him, well, a piece of him."