Supernatural/ Hardy Boys crossover. You don't need to be familiar with the Hardy Boys to enjoy the story. Please let me know what you think! Phoenix

Close Encounters

Chapter 1

"Stop it," eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy groused as his brother navigated their van along the dark winding road just outside their home town of Bayport, New York.

"Stop what?" Joe was the picture of innocence as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

The brothers had been at their friend Chet Morton's family farm helping out all day. Chet's father was recovering from day surgery and appreciated the brothers' assistance, repaying their kindness with an old fashioned late autumn barbeque. Now, just after ten on a Saturday night, the two teens were on their way home.

"You know what," his brother countered, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at his blond-haired brother's profile.

"Okay," Joe shrugged, but couldn't erase the smirk from his face.

Frank continued to glare and after a moment spoke again. "You're still doing it."

"Doing what?" The smirk was now a full grown grin.

"You're smirking."

Joe laughed, "Oh yeah, I am." He glanced across at his older sibling. "Oh come on, Frank. You have to give me this! How many times do I do something stupid, that you told me not to, and then I'm fodder for weeks? This is just so novel – you got to let me bask in it for a little bit."

Frank sighed. The lengths he would go to for his brother. Exhaling heavily he slouched in the seat. "Fine."

"Don't take it so hard, bro," Joe consoled. "I can only say 'I told you so', so many times, right?"

His brother scowled and turned his attention out the side window, though there was not much to see. This section of road ran through a wooded area and except for a few old houses and farms, was pretty much devoid of scenery at this hour of night.

"I mean, it's not like I didn't yell at you to duck! Geez Frank, we really need to work on your listening skills," Joe goaded.

Frank huffed. "Whatever. And how the hell was I supposed to know that you and Chet were involved in some demented crap shoot!" His choice of words started Joe howling as that was exactly what Joe and Chet had been doing – flinging cow poop. They were supposed to be mucking out the barn….Frank got caught in the 'crossfire'.

"The next time I yell 'get down', do us both a favor," Joe waved at the air in front of his nose dramatically, "and get down!" He glanced at his simmering sibling. "You really do smell bad."

"I took a shower," the older teen growled, unable to find anything mirthful about the whole event. And if it wasn't bad enough, the dung had been warm. Fresh. Yuck.

"Take another one," the younger boy suggested, "cause Mom ain't going to appreciate your kind of country fresh."

"Joe," Frank was glaring so hard now that his two eyebrows made one. "Shut up."

Joe grinned but wisely enough, didn't say anything, choosing instead to concentrate on driving and fiddling with the dial on the van stereo until he found something he liked to listen to. Beside him, Frank rubbed his face wearily. He couldn't remember the drive home from Chet's house ever taking so long before.

…

Frank had almost nodded off, his eyes closed and his body relaxed, when he heard Joe mutter a curse...and then the van just died.

"What's up?" he asked around a yawn, as he stretched his long 6'1" frame out in the seat and eyed his now frowning brother.

Joe scowled. "No idea. One minute everything was fine, then the radio went all weird, all the lights started to flicker and then everything just died." The seventeen-year-old undid his seatbelt and shoved open the door to get out, snagging the hood release on his way out.

"What do you mean, the radio went all weird?" Frank asked, grabbing the flashlight from the glove compartment and then following his brother. He had no intention of letting Joe stand on the side of a dark, desolate highway all by himself. That is not how the young sleuths worked.

"It got staticky," Joe elaborated, yanking up the hood and putting the bar in place to keep it up. He pulled out a small pocket light and shone it over the silent engine, trying to spot the trouble as Frank shone his flashlight around, on alert for the first sign of trouble. Vehicle problems were not always as innocent as they might seem.

"See anything?" Frank asked, keeping his back to Joe's. He grimaced as he heard a bit of colorful muttering. "I'll take that as a no, then."

After a few more moments, Joe straightened up and clicked off his light. He sighed and rubbed at an itch on his cheek distractedly. "I dunno. I don't see anything…but I just don't know."

Slamming the hood closed, he turned around and looked at Frank. "We'd better call Mom and tell her we'll be late. Maybe Dad's home already and he can give us a lift or something."

Frank and Joe's father, detective Fenton Hardy, had been away since Monday but was expected back sometime this weekend.

"Yeah….Maybe," Frank agreed and then watched as his brother fished out his cell phone and dialed. After a moment, Joe turned a perplexed look on him.

"Nothing's happening," he admitted.

The dark-haired boy frowned. "Do you have power?"

"Two bars," Joe said, passing the phone to his brother so Frank could see for himself.

"That's good," the older teen admitted, "for you." He ignored the dirty look the blond boy threw him. Pursing his lips Frank pulled out his own cell phone and tried it but he had the exact same problem as Joe. Nothing happened. 'That's odd,' he thought, 'we're in a reception zone.'

"I don't know," he finally acquiesced, knowing Joe was waiting for some sort of explanation from him. Frank usually had one but this time he was baffled. "There must be something in the area messing with the signal or something."

"Yeah," Joe glanced around a bit nervously and the older boy couldn't help but tease.

"Isn't this the part of the movie where we hear a rustling around us or something?"

"Cut the crap, Frank." The younger boy wasn't in the mood for levity as he started to get a very bad feeling. Something wasn't right.

Frank gave him an odd look but when he spoke, his voice had lost all trace of humor, replaced by concern, "What's wrong, Joe?"

"I don't know," the blond teen said, lowering his voice; he started to move towards the van door again. "But something just seems off…"

Frank glanced at Joe and then hastened his own way back to the van. One thing he knew for certain about his brother, Joe's intuition could set clocks. If his brother was feeling that something was up, then there was a very chilling chance that he was right.

"What do you want to do?" The dark-haired brother lowered his voice as he slid into his seat and turned towards the other boy.

Even in the darkness, Frank could see Joe worry his lip as he thought. Then an odd look crossed his face, he put his key back into the van ignition, turned it and the vehicle roared to life.

Frank started to ask but Joe cut him off. "I don't know, bro – I just got this strong feeling that if I started the van now, it would work."

"Okay," Frank tried not to sound as unsettled as he felt. "Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth and get the hell out of here."

"I'm on it." Joe eased the gear into DRIVE, pressed on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb, sighing in relief to be finally on their way again.

They had barely driven ten feet when a dark figure lurched onto the road!

"JOE!" Frank yelled as he braced his hands on the dash. Joe, seeing the person at the exact same time, slammed on the brakes and the van skidded to a rocking halt.

After a moment, Joe swallowed hard and glanced at his brother. "Did we hit him?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He met Joe at the front of the van and they panned their flashlight beams around the road until Frank found the person, lying face down on the road.

"Oh shit!" Joe whispered as he quickly crouched down by the man and pressed two fingers against the side of his throat, grimacing at the slickness he felt. Please…please…please…YES! "He's alive!" he told his older brother after finding a strong and steady pulse. Thank goodness.

"I'd better call 911," Frank said, pulling out his cell phone again and hoping for better luck this time. He had gotten as far as 9-1, when a soft groan made him pause. The person was waking up.

"Easy there," Joe said to the man, who was stubbornly trying to push himself onto his hands and knees. "You're hurt."

"M'okay," the man protested, sounding anything but as he swayed slightly. "No hospital," he mumbled, having obviously heard that part of the conversation.

"You're bleeding," the blond Hardy stated the obvious, worried that he had hit the man with the van.

The man leaned over, pressing his head against the road and cursed. "Shit."

"Mister?" Joe exchanged an anxious glance with Frank. This guy must have a head injury or something – but before he could say anything else, the man pushed up to his knees and turned towards them, his hazel eyes surprisingly coherent and determined.

Frank gasped as he recognized the person immediately. He had only met the young man once, but this was not someone anyone would easily forget.

"Dean Winchester?" he breathed. "What the hell are you doing here?" He paused and glanced around taking in a notable absence. "And where is Sam?"

Next chapter: Saturday