Hey guys! New chapter!

This one takes place between 3.14: Long Distance Call and 3.15 Time is on my Side. It occurs in the second half of March and just over a month before Dean dies on May 1st/2nd 2008. Choosing the places for each chapter to take place has been all kinds of fun- my internet at the moment is on par with dail-up speeds, which makes viewing Google Earth a goddamn nightmare.

So you know, a lot of these chapters will have the format of their closure taking place in their subsequent chapters. Don't ask me why- it's just a thing I'm doing right now.

Lot's of love to everyone who left a review!

Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Just Passing Through

Murfreesboro, Tennessee

It wasn't until the next morning that they managed to work out what was holding onto Ivy Walters. Upon talking to the librarian again- who'd slyly managed to wrangle a date out of Sam (much to his everlasting chagrin and Dean's everlasting glee) in return for information- they'd learnt that Walters used to wear a locket, that she thought might have held a lock of her hair and that of her still-born child.

The autopsy report and inventory had never included any jewellery of that description. Which had meant that maybe- just maybe- the locket was still on the site where she'd died.

Which had been all kinds of fun to search for. Dean hadn't exactly been hopeful of finding anything, but miracle of miracles, they'd managed. Dean and Sam had counted their blessings that they'd somehow found it in broad daylight, before another person could be possessed or hurt.

It made a nice change from the usual state of affairs.

New Boston, Texas

He was just passing through.

He had to remind himself of that fact, as he walked into the grimy diner on the side of the highway and spotted the waitress. He was just passing through, and Sammy would kill him if he hooked up with the woman with the fantastic, glorious tracks of land that had started to give him The Look- you know the one, with the eyes going all come hither at him and the lips pursing unconsciously- the moment he'd walked through the door. Sam was filling the car up- among other things- but that didn't give him nearly enough time to get his game on with the woman before the giant Sasquatch would walk in and give him the look of disapproval.

Inwardly, he curses his brother for managing to blue ball him without even being in eyeshot. Life was just unfair. He only had a month left, dammit.

He scans the diner half-heartedly, distinctly put out by the flirtatious smile the girl sends him as he sits down, flicking her blonde hair away in a gesture he bets she's practiced multiple times in her bedroom mirror.

He was just passing through. They had places to be; creatures to gank.

There's little else of interest; the usual old-timer hunched over the bar, digging away at his meal and looking disgruntled about 'the youth of today' or whatever it was that got old people's goat, the young couple in heated 'conversation' and the awkward teenager with eyes that stalk the waitress' breasts with the typical look of wonder scrawled across his face.

They are quite an impressive pair of tits. And when she leans over the counter just so as she collects paper and pen (that probably should have been on her person already but who is he to complain, really) she gives him the most spectacular view- the top three buttons of her blouse generously undone.

It's the moments like this that Dean loves; especially now that his deadline is quickly creeping up on him.

Which was a terrifying thing to consider; for all his posturing in front of his brother. Fuck. He had a fucking deadline. He- Dean Winchester- one of the most infamous Hunters in the States; in the prime of his life and at the pinnacle of health, had a deadline of just over a month. Just over a month and then he was boned- well and truly- with a one-way ticket down to Hell for the rest of eternity.

Yeah, life was just fucking peachy.

He tears at one of the cheap napkins on the table angrily, imagining it's the limbs of the demon bitch who'd taken ownership of his soul. It had been a stupid- stupid- thing to do, shortening his decade to one year. But if he was honest with himself- which he often wasn't- what scared him the most wasn't the fact that he was going to die soon… it was that he didn't regret his actions. Shit, he'd probably do it again, if the scenario presented itself. And he can't help but pity Sam for that.

The sound of a phone ringing shrilly from the booth behind him breaks him from his musings like a shot to the face. He hears a soft curse, then the sound of someone searching through their bag- cluttered by the sound of it.

"Hermione speaking."

The shredded napkin falls from his hands.

"Oh, hi Leigh." Her voice is strained; tired, "No I'm not busy… Shoot."

No fucking way. Hermione was here? The girl with the crazy hair that had been quite happy to turn down his advances. Which had been a shame; not only because Sam ribbed him about it for days afterwards. She hadn't exactly been his usual type- at all- and she was pretty, bordering on plain- with exception to her flyaway curls of hair. But she'd been… magnetic. Interesting in a way not a lot of women he came across were.

He gives the waitress a sign with his open hand, fingers splayed out in the universal symbol of 'gimme five minutes'. She looks disappointed but moves back to her place at the counter.

What the hell was she doing here? New Boston wasn't exactly off the beaten track, but it was a fair way from the last place they'd met, and a town this small didn't exactly have much to offer for tourists like Hermione… provided she was a tourist. Though he somehow doubted she was stalking them; bumping into each other through 'coincidence' hadn't worked with Meg, and he didn't think demons would be stupid enough to try it again. And certainly not dumb enough to go for round two without even knowing he or Sammy were there.

"No, Leigh." She sounds irritated now, and Dean resists the urge to turn around and tap the woman on the shoulder, "You can't call him that; Harry is a wizard, not a male witch- and I'd wish you'd stop referring to him as one- no I won't refer to him as a witch; that just sounds ridiculous!"

What.

The.

Fuck.

His hand slides slowly to his pocket, pulling his flick knife out in one smooth and precise action. He's suddenly wishing he'd taken his colt inside with him. If Hermione knew a witch, and was capable of talking about it so casually, chances were she was in league with demons herself. His lip pulls back in disgust at the thought; her rapid extraction in February makes perfect sense now.

"I understand you want me to talk about the darker sides of magic, but he's only a child. He's so young, it makes no sense to expose him to that level of evil."

Dean isn't sure if he wants to burst into laughter or launch himself at the woman behind him. She- was she- was she saying that the witch was a fucking child? She'd condemned a child to an eternity in hell- moulding him into a monster that would have to be fucking exterminated- and here she was talking as if she were speaking about disciplining him?

And then had the gall to talk about how she didn't want to expose him to 'the evil side of magic'? Like there was ever a good side! What was wrong with this woman?

His hands are trembling with suppressed rage as he opens the knife beneath the table.

"I just think it's wrong."

Was she even hearing herself? Or was she just insane? In all honesty, he'd prefer for her to be batshit crazy. Crazy was treatable; evil was… well, evil, and could only be exterminated.

A snort from Hermione as Dean thinks of the possible cars she could have travelled in. If he could get out of here without her noticing, they could tail her and find a nice, secluded place to trap her, interrogate and subsequently gank.

His chest throbs uncomfortably at the thought and he pushes away the discomfort with the usual level of ruthlessness.

"Why should there be a softer side to him?" Why indeed? There was nothing soft about dead babies and cat skulls, "Voldemort is inhuman." That stops him short; he's never heard of a demon called Voldemort, "There's no use in talking about his daddy issues to Harry or his friends; he wants to rule the bloody world. He's a psychopath with a superiority complex, and Harry is eleven. He's not going to understand that there's more than just black and white in the world. It's something to talk about later, when he can comprehend the grey."

Dean frowns, thumbing the blade of the switchback in thought. There was something about what she was saying that didn't quite make sense. If he didn't know any better, he might even think she was talking about a human there. And he'd never really heard them call that skeezy shit magic before- it was always just called witchcraft or whatever.

"Who gives a shit if they say witchcraft is evil? I'm not going to change it; Harry is a wizard. He uses magic. It's a part of who he is and you won't see me changing him."

Uhhh.

"What do mean 'well how did he get his powers?' I thought it would be bloody obvious."

Yeah; all you had to do was pledge your soul to a demon and prance around with the blood of virgins painted on your forehead. It was simple. Obvious.

"Oh come one Leigh, it's integral to the entire bloody universe. I may as well just re-write the entire thing."

Wait, what?

An extended pause, and he can feel the air around him grow heated, "You- you would sully my entire story- year's worth of work- by proposing to make him a-a VAMPIRE?!" She hisses in outrage.

Oh.

Oh.

Well. In hindsight that conversation actually makes sense.

The relief is palpable.

"I don't care that vampires and werewolves are in fashion. Fashions change and I will not violate Harry's story because you feel like the Publishers would prefer it if it 'followed the latest fad'." The irate tone of her voice makes him think that she could probably go on for quite some time about what she thought about the 'latest fad'. Which was a surprise for Dean; since when had bloodsuckers and werewolves been the new 'in' thing? And more to the point; why? The fuckers were nasty.

"Oh for-" she makes a groan of annoyance, "Would it placate you to know that there will be vampires and werewolves in it at some point?"

There's an extended pause as Hermione listens to the other side of her call. Dean kind of wants to know what her angry face looks like; he'd bet it was priceless. After a time, she sighs, and he can hear the scrape of cutlery on ceramic. He slides his knife back into his pocket, "Look, I get it Leigh; you just want what's best for me. But please- for the love of God- trust me on this. The world doesn't need another soft-core vampire porno novel to fan the flames of the nutty tweens."

Those things fucking exist?

"And yes; I know you never suggested that was the route I should go down. But my intended audience isn't for hormonal teenagers searching desperately for a romance novel to validate their… I don't know- existence or whatever. It's people. I just want people to read it.

"Oh, and you know… make a boatload of money out of it in the meantime."

She snorts lightly in amusement, "And hey, if you want a trend- what the fuck's wrong with starting our own one? Screw fads, let's make our own; the kids will dig it."

She laughs outright this time, "Shut-up you. Anyway, when you're done editing, pass it back to me and I'll iron out the kinks and then we can start forwarding the manuscript onto as many publishers we can get out hands on; I'm starting to run a little low on cash."

She laughs at something 'Leigh' says. Dean's slightly perturbed by how quickly she manages to switch from wrathful to star-shine and rainbows.

"Yeah, yeah; I'll talks to you soon. Give me a call when you find the next thing to nit-pick about… Bye Leigh." He hears the soft tone as she hangs up, and the muffled clatter as the cell phone returns to her overstuffed bag. She lets out a long breath. It sounds tired.

Before he can question the intelligence of his actions (so sue him; he was gonna be dead in a month. He could do whatever he wanted), he turns around in his seat so he can see the back of Hermione's head. From his vantage point it looks like a mess of curls- frizzy and rather unexciting in colour, but charming in its own way- pulled back in a half-assed bun. She's pushing around her half eaten food as though debating whether to continue eating or not.

"Editors, huh? Guess they can be a pain in the ass."

Hermione yelps- quietly- in shock and drops her fork (it feels like a familiar gesture by now). She whips around in her seat, her eyes impossibly wide. A curl slips out of the knot at the back of her head and hangs loosely behind her ear. Dean's half-tempted to pull on it childishly.

She stares at him for a good, long moment. He's momentarily convinced he sees a look of horror flash through her eyes before thinking better of it.

"Dean…" She breathes, eyes boring into his as though they could read all his secrets. They narrow in suspicion, "Are you stalking me?"

He respects that her first reaction is genuine suspicion. It's far more believable than claiming it to be 'such a coincidence'. He smirks at her, "I could ask the same of you. What brings you to New Boston?"

"The highway. I'm just passing through."

His eyes narrow slightly. How convenient, "Where you headed?"

She pauses slightly before her next answer. She seems cautious- wary- of his questions, and there's a spooked look in her eyes that makes him think she'd run off right now if she had the chance, "Not that it's any of your business, but Wichita."

In the opposite direction. It's a relief. If she'd been headed in for the same route, he may have been forced to re-evaluate his judgement of her civilian status. He gives her his best non-threatening smile. Pity Sam weren't here- he did disarming charm way better than he ever could. He tries for casually curious, "Random selection?"

She smiles and the line of her shoulders relaxes minutely, "Yeah; somewhat. Though I'll probably head off to San Antonio at some point; I hear they have a festival going on there in April."

"Out of curiosity, what does your process of random selection look like?" Hermione blushes; a slight reddening of her cheeks that looks ridiculously appealing in combination with the sheepish slide of her eyes to the left.

"Pointing at the map with my eyes closed."

Dean lets out a startled laugh. That was a new one, "How do you manage to pay for the gas?"

She shrugs, "Publications mostly. It's a fairly steady income supply. What about you; what are you doing here?"

"Family reunion in Dallas." He lies effortlessly. She raises an eyebrow, a slight smile quirking her lips.

"Making the rounds?"

Dean blinks at her, "What?"

The smile turns into a smirk, "Well, you said you were visiting family in Murfreesboro as well. So I was wondering, Mister Not-a-Stalker; were you making the rounds?"

It was not very often that Dean Winchester was caught out on a lie. He sends her a 'not-a-stalker' grin in an attempt to maintain the falsity, "Yeah; Sam and I figured it was best to get it done in one fell swoop- spend a coupl'a weeks at each. Hoped it would keep them off our backs for at least the next year or so."

"And has it?" Her eyes look completely unconvinced, but the rest of her appears to be buying it.

"Well the last pair of folks were dying to get rid of us by the end of our stay, so I'd say so, yeah."

Dean Winchester, you are a comedy GENIUS.

Hermione appears to think less so, but that's just because she doesn't know the context. She shifts, and glances over at the waitress making her way over to them. Dean notes with no small amount of amusement that the girl is staring daggers at Hermione (who looks as though she couldn't give two flying fucks as to what she thought of her), as though it were her fault he was no longer making eyes with her breasts. He gives the girl a placating wink and turns around to take his order.

She leans down slightly lower and pouts flirtatiously in reward.

When the waitress leaves and he turns back around- the question of what book she had planned next on his lips- she's disappeared.

Guess she'd been more spooked than she'd let on. Pity.He would have liked to have talked to her some more.

He says nothing about the odd encounter to Sammy when he sits down two minutes later; he'd been ridiculous about coincidences ever since Meg.

If I were Hermione in this position, I think I'd do exactly the same thing. It's not a violation of your best friend's privacy if they don't exist in this universe. :P

I'd also like it to be known that Hermione's contempt for vampire novels is not a reflection of the author's own opinions.

Almost got caught out calling gas- petrol, which is the Australian lingo for the same thing. If you see any language mix-ups, be sure to point them out for me!

Don't forget to leave a review! Reviews are all kinds of awesome for me :D

Ciao!