WILDERNESS TIPS

By Allegra

See Part 1 for disclaimers etc.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : So here it is, the final chapter!! I wasn't sure I was ever going to make it. A huuuuuuugggggeeee thank you to everyone who has followed this story since it's first chapter so long ago. An extra special thank you, too, to the people who have written lovely little notes of support during my difficult times in the real world. All of you are brilliant & I thoroughly enjoy reading all the other inspiring works out there. I know this fic could have included even more episodes of angst at the end, but a girl's got to stop somewhere & I didn't want to stretch it out any further. I hope even though it's the last part, you'll still let me know what you think. Best wishes to all of you!

On a research note, I apologize for the cack-handed attempts at Ojibwe translations. I know they suck but I'm hoping, for the sake of drama, no one will mind too much!

PART 17 : MEDICINE FOR THE SOUL

For a split second, not one of the hunters moved. They were rooted to the spot, completely unprepared for how to deal with this sudden turn of events. Finally, Sam spoke, his voice hard as iron. "You've got some nerve coming here…" His knuckles tightened around the knife hilt as he advanced slowly on the shaking, elderly man.

Ellen quickly moved in to place a palm across the young man's chest. She could feel his heart beating strong and fast. "Sam, take it easy. Hear him out."

Sam refused to tear his gaze from Ridley Miller, his voice a low growl through gritted teeth. "He nearly killed Dean…he would have finished the job if we hadn't got there in time. You want me to hear him out?! He burnt his negotiating bridges the moment he took my brother." Pushing against Ellen's hand, Sam took another step towards where Ridley stood.

The old man's hands were raised in surrender, his limbs trembling, whether from cold or fear or both was anyone's guess. But his eyes spoke his terror as they moved quickly from one hunter to the next in desperation. "Please…" he stammered. "I didn't know what else to do…I didn't want to hurt anyone but I couldn't let him go…"

"You son of a bitch!" Sam retorted. "You deserve to rot in Hell for what you've done!"

"Sam!" Bobby barked. "Why don't you go check on Dean?" It was hardly a question and the steely blue gaze of the older hunter penetrated Sam's angry stance.

Snapping the knife back into its sheath with a warning click, Sam looked from Ellen to Bobby. "Just don't forget what he's done. We can't trust him."

"I know," Ellen said, quietly, watching Sam retreat reluctantly from the room.

Bobby moved close to Ridley, his expression hard and unreadable, arms folded firmly across his chest. "You've got one minute to convince me not to stick a knife in your gut and leave you for the crows."

All of Sam's pent-up anger dissipated the moment he set foot in the bedroom. Seeing Dean, alive and safe, suddenly put everything back into perspective. This was all that mattered, that they were safe and united. Shoving the knife back into his boot, the young Winchester lowered himself into the chair beside Dean's bed. He watched the rise and fall of his brother's chest, the hitch of his breathing with the chest pain that found him even in sleep. Dark bruises of colour still circled Dean's closed lids, his cracked lips parted as his body worked hard to pull in life giving breaths.

Sam didn't want to wake him but he desperately needed to be close to Dean and couldn't resist pulling one cool, scratched hand into his own. Despite their best efforts to clean him up, blood was still congealed beneath Dean's fingernails, the nails themselves torn and ragged from where the hunter had tried desperately to free himself from the daily torment he had endured.

For a long time, all Sam wanted to do was watch Dean sleep. But finally fatigue overtook him and his head drooped onto his chest, his fingers firmly locked between his brother's.

Bobby and Ellen kept their voices low as they talked through their options from the safe distance of the kitchen. Ridley sat beside the heater, his head lolling against the back of the chair. There was a chance that he was feigning sleep in an attempt to hear the hunters' plans for him but Ellen doubted it. No matter what had happened to Dean, here was an old, frail man who had found himself at the mercy of a spirit's will. True, he had nearly killed Dean, but no matter how angry that fact made her, Ellen knew it would have spared several lives because of Ridley's act. The strain of his actions was taking its toll. Ridley should have been tucked up in an easy chair in the corner of an old people's home, reliving his better days, not chasing about in the woods after a murdering creature with a thirst for human life.

She wondered how old the man really was, his true age no doubt belied by the ravages of the past months, perhaps even years. Ellen couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Every one of them fighting the good fight had considered sacrificing a few for the good of many. Was Ridley's plight any different?

She and Bobby had grilled the old man for the better part of an hour, sourcing all his rites and incantations, demanding to know the details of each one's effects. By the end, Ridley was clearly exhausted, his sentences losing their precision and the shudders of cold growing by the minute. In the end, Ellen had managed to rein Bobby in, leaving Ridley nursing a cup of coffee with a blanket around his shoulders.

"So what now?" Ellen asked.

"We sit tight until Red gets here, can't be long now. There's nothing Ridley's told us that changes anything. As far as I can tell, we are still dealing with a Kigatilik, and it ain't gonna stop for anything 'cept the power of a shaman."

Ellen's gaze moved past Bobby's shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the gloom outside. "Speak of the devil," she murmured, jerking her head in the direction of the door.

Red's gloved hand was poised to knock when Bobby flung the door open. Bobby laughed at the shocked expression on the wizened hunter's face. "Ha! Guess you're not the only one with psychic powers!"

"Well, then I wonder what I'm doing here," Red smiled. "It's been a long time, Singer. Glad to see you've still got all your limbs intact." The hunter stepped into the snugness of the apartment, his black eyes flicking across the room in a quick assessment. His gaze lighted on Ellen and the heavy lines of his face immediately lifted in a smile that filled the room with warmth. "You must be Ellen. The name's Red."

"Pleased to meet you, Red," Ellen smiled, extending her hand for him to shake.

Red pulled his right glove off with even, white teeth and raised her hand to his mouth, planting a gentlemanly kiss on it. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine."

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his flirtatious edge was replaced with business-like formality as he turned to face where Ridley was huddled beside the heater. "And this?" he asked, his voice tinged with distaste.

If Ridley registered the tone in Red's voice, he chose to ignore it and grappled with the arms of the chair as he rose to extend a bony hand. "My name is Ridley Miller. I am so grateful that you are here."

"Hmmph," Red acknowledged with a curt nod. Ellen imagined there were several expletives rolling round in the hunter's head but she appreciated his refreshing ability to retain a sense of decorum. Red looked over at Bobby. "So, you sure it's a Kigatilik? We don't want to be summoning it here only to find we're dressed for a disco when it's a black tie event."

Bobby chuckled, the first time he had found anything to laugh at in goodness knows how long. "As sure as I can be without seeing the thing for myself. Ridley's description fits perfectly."

"Well, let's get on with it, then." Red shrugged out of his waterproof and heavy wool coat beneath. As he stripped off the warming layers, Ellen couldn't help but notice how scrawny the man was, little more than sinew. Were it not for the dangerous flash in his eyes, anyone would think Red could be blown over by a hefty gust of wind. "Where's the Winchester boy?" he asked, innocently.

"Dean's sleeping through there," Ellen said, nodding in the direction of Sam and Dean's shared room. "Why?"

"Can I see him?"

Ellen's mouth gaped for a second. She knew it would be important to have Dean's input but he was in no state to receive visitors. He had barely maintained consciousness for longer than a few minutes so far. "Uh…"

"He's pretty wiped. I'm not sure…" Bobby interjected, ignoring Ellen's stern glare at such an understatement.

"I understand, but we're not gonna get anywhere without the boy's help." Red's mouth tightened into a taut line, annoyance barely concealed beneath the tense muscles.

Ellen ignored the expression gracing his features, maternal protection setting in. "Can I ask what Dean has to do with exterminating this creature? He was a victim, nothing more."

Red shot a glance at Bobby that said he understood exactly what was going on here. If there was one thing he had learned in his dealings with the distressed, widows and orphans, the dying and the damned, it was that a few words can go a long way. He moved towards Ellen, being careful not to intrude on her personal space. "Ellen, I understand your concerns. I gather Dean is lucky to be alive at all but…we need him if we are to stop the Kigatilik for good. Now I've got rituals and chants coming out of my ears but they're good for nothing if the creature is not vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?" Ellen repeated, digesting the wizened hunter's words. Slowly, the reality of what Red was suggesting dawned on her. "You mean…use Dean as bait?" Red withdrew from her chilly stare but said nothing. Ellen looked from him to Bobby and back again. "Surely there's got to be another way? Can't someone else do it?"

Red shook his head regretfully. "The creature is connected to Dean's life force until death. Until one or other of them is dead, the Kigatilik will not be able to move on. Ridley is here. All he needs to do is summon it and the rest of the work is up to me."

"And what are Dean's chances of survival?" Ellen asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"That I cannot tell you," Red replied gently. "But I will do my best to hasten the ritual."

Ellen looked at Bobby and saw her own anxiety reflected there. A hunter's life was filled with danger and the lurking possibility of life threatening peril just around the corner. She knew Dean had signed up knowing the harsh reality of a hunter's world, but no one was prepared for the slow lingering death he might receive at the hands of the Kigatilik. Ellen set aside the images of the Winchester boys in their youth, how they had weathered the loss of a mother, a childhood, a loved one and finally a father. It would destroy Sam to live without Dean. Hell, she and Bobby had witnessed the peak of the iceberg during Dean's disappearance. There was no telling what it would do to him to know he truly was alone. She could feel tears prickling behind her eyes but Ellen fought them back. "Well, I guess you've convinced me…but Sam's another matter."

Ellen quietly pushed the bedroom door open and took in the tender scene before her. Dean lay on his side, his grown out hair a messy mop against the pillow. His dark eyelashes rested against pale skin, his brow smooth with dreamlessness. His chest rose and fell in even breaths but he still looked frail enough to break with the slightest mishandling. Slumped forwards across the side of the bed Sam was also sleeping and it pained Ellen to disturb their rest only to put them in danger once more.

Moving round to the side of the bed, she rubbed a hand across Sam's back. "Sam, honey?" she whispered.

The younger Winchester jumped bolt upright before his eyes had even opened and he fixed her with a bleary gaze. He glanced at Dean, checking his brother was still there and his rescue hadn't just been a dream. "Ellen? Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. I just gotta talk to you and Dean." She tried to muster a warming smile but it died as soon as it reached her lips.

Sam eyed her suspiciously. "Why? Whatever it is, you can run it by me."

"I wish I could, Sam, but Dean needs to be in on this, too." Both their gazes traveled back to the huddled form of the elder Winchester, his skeletal frame barely filling half of the single bed. Sam looked at Ellen and swallowed hard, trying to control the defensive temper brooding beneath the surface.

"Let me," he managed.

"Sure thing," Ellen replied. "I'll go fix you both something to keep your strength up."

Sam brushed his fingers against Dean's arm. "Dean?" he whispered. At first, there was no response so Sam pressed a bit harder, squeezing his brother's arm and raising his tone. "Dean! It's time to wake up, bro."

Dean's eyelids fluttered weakly and dazed, hazel eyes focused on his little brother. "Sammy?" he asked, his voice nothing more than a cracked whisper. "What…?" He squinted in the harsh light of the bedside lamp, the action making him look even more helpless and childlike.

"Hey bro, it's okay. Everything's fine, we just need to talk."

Dean turned in the bed, wincing at the sudden aching pain that coursed through his limbs as he did so. Gingerly, he dragged himself slowly into a sitting position, finally releasing a ragged breath of relief. "What is it?"

Just as he spoke, Ellen appeared in the doorway and her face spoke volumes. Dean looked from her to Sam and back again, mustering a little of his old wise ass spirit. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the sound of this?"

Ten minutes later the three hunters were sitting in silence, having reached an impasse. Sam had ranted angrily, Dean had exhausted himself trying to allay his brother's fears and now there was nothing more to be said.

If it were possible, Dean's face looked even more haggard and he looked like he might drop at any moment. Yet, the hunter's survival instinct kept him going but Ellen knew it would have its price.

"Listen, I'll say it again, I don't like this anymore than you do. I wish to God there was another way to get rid of this thing, but Dean's our only hope," Ellen pressed.

Sam shook his head wearily, "You say that, but we don't know for sure."

Dean interjected, "Sam, you know the score. We don't have a lifetime to figure this out."

"I know that, Dean, but…" Sam's voice trailed off and he stared pleadingly at his older brother.

Dean recognized that expression and it broke his heart to deny Sam the one thing he wanted. As brothers, they were as different as chalk and cheese but the one unshakable thing that brought them together was the love they felt for one another. Dean had known the pain of fearing he had lost Sammy for good and he knew the black pit of despair it was opening up in his little brother to conceive of losing Dean now. They had come so close to the brink of death, it was unbearable to endure such torment again.

"Sammy, listen to me. I'm not going anywhere. This can all be over if I just do this one thing. We can get back on the road, hole up in some seedy motel with the magic fingers." That brought a smidgen of a smile to Sam's lips and Dean continued. "'Sides, you're going to have my back, right?" He felt bad for playing on Sam's weakness but Dean didn't have the strength to search for any other way. Sam nodded mutely, finally caving to his brother's determination. Forcing a goofy grin, he asked, "So what's a guy got to do to get some food around here?"

"Sorry, I'll get it," Sam blurted out, desperate to have something to do now he could no longer defy his brother's wishes.

"There's some soup on the sideboard," Ellen said, then turned her attention back to Dean. She sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed his hand between her own, noticing how pale and cold it still felt in comparison to her own. Her eyes searched his pinched face for the truth beneath the mask he had held in place for Sam's sake. "I wish there was another way."

Dean swallowed and quickly looked away, down at the bed sheets and out from under Ellen's maternal gaze. His voice sounded small and defeated, "You and me both."

Sam watched closely as Red meticulously laid out tools and herbs on the coffee table. He recognized some, the sweet grass, juniper, white sage and cedar. Then there were bags of pungent smelling powder that Sam idly guessed at the ingredients but didn't ask. He knew Red was only here to save Dean and that he was an innocent party in all this but Sam couldn't help but feel resentful that the guy didn't have more appealing methods. He watched as the hunter produced a battered, wooden box and opened it. The interior was divided into several compartments. There were cords, small bones that Sam hoped belonged to an animal, eagle feathers, a variety of coloured crystals and a Native American rattle.

Red peered up at Sam from under a hooded brow. "I was sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good man."

"He was a good hunter," Sam corrected.

Red nodded, recognizing the edge of bitterness in the young man's voice. "Well, I guess I don't need to tell you it's a tough life to choose."

"Not everyone gets to choose," Sam replied.

"Sam, I don't know you, but I know the Winchester brothers' reputation. You're doing a good job out there, your father would be proud." He turned his attention back to the items on the table then, without looking up, he added, "Even when the right path is the most painful one."

For a second, Sam thought he caught a glimmer of the scarred soul Red carried inside him. It momentarily shocked him and then, as if sensing his own vulnerability, the old hunter's game face fell back into place.

Dean ate as much food as his shrunken stomach would allow, acutely aware of Ellen's watchful gaze monitoring the size of each mouthful he consumed. He struggled against his body telling him he was full, knowing he was going to need every ounce of strength if he was going to make it through the next step of the plan.

Finally, he pushed the plate aside, unable to bear another forkful, and slid down wearily in the bed. Resting his eyes behind closed lids, Dean asked, "How long?"

"Whenever you're ready," came Ellen's reply. Dean's eyes opened to meet her anxious gaze and she managed a feeble smile. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What choice do I have?" he murmured. His dull eyes searched her face with detachment but Ellen could still see the glimmer of hope in their green depths. She wished there was something she could offer to make everything okay but, as usual, there was nothing to be said except the stark truth. Dean's mouth contorted into a melancholy, knowing grimace as he shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "Can you help me up?"

He took a deep, steadying breath as Ellen approached the bed and slid her arm firmly across his back. He tried to ignore the discomfort of her palm pressing against his uncushioned spine and willed his body to follow her lead as she pulled him upright in the bed. "Wait," he breathed, disgusted at his own weakness but unable to move another inch without a moment to recover.

Ellen sat carefully on the side of the bed, shuffling back until she could allow Dean's upper body to rest against her. It frightened her how easily he succumbed to her support and she felt the young man's breaths come in swift succession as he tried to regain his equilibrium. "'kay, I'm ready," he said, clearly trying hard to sound as confident as possible and Ellen moved off the bed once more as Dean managed to swing his bare feet onto the carpeted floor.

He paused and Ellen chivvied, "Ready when you are." Dean did not move, his head bent forwards, staring at his own feet. "Dean, honey? You okay?"

"Do you think it's going to work?" he asked, quietly.

Ellen sighed, her heart breaking at the vulnerability suddenly naked before her. She knelt in front of Dean and ran her hand softly through his dark hair. "Red knows what he's doing. He's got everything planned thoroughly."

"But…do you think I'm going to be…you know?" Dean managed, still refusing to meet Ellen's gaze.

"Oh, honey," Ellen whispered, pulling his skeletal body towards her, ignoring the ingrained resistance Dean put between them. "This isn't going to beat you. It's just another creature to hunt, one that we've found out how to kill. We've always managed to kill them before, now is going to be no different. You and Sam are going to be back behind the wheel of the Impala before you know it." She planted a kiss lightly onto Dean's head and squeezed his cold hands between her own. She cupped his cheek gently and forced his head up to look at her. "Trust me."

The moment was broken as Sam appeared at the door. "What's going on?"

Dean's voice transformed back into older brother hunting mode, hard and determined. "We're going to waste a demon, that's what. Give me a hand, will ya?"

Sam hesitated, looking as if he were about to launch into another protective tirade but stopped himself. Supporting his brother round the waist, Sam helped Ellen get Dean into a standing position and, once sure he was balanced, they made their way into the living room.

Dean knew Ellen had said they were ready when he was but he hadn't quite been prepared for the whole ritual laid out before him. It was almost as if they had been sitting round twiddling their thumbs waiting for him to get out of bed. Strange markings and symbols were chalked onto the walls and sprayed onto the carpet. Candles flickered across the darkened room and there was an acrid smell of herbs burning. In the centre of the room was a chair, presumably where Dean was expected to sit.

"Dean," Red stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet John's sons. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Dean replied, vaguely embarrassed that someone who held John in such high regard should meet his son in such a weakened, pathetic state. Sam and Ellen helped him to the centre chair and Red approached him with some rope. "What's that for?" Dean asked, suspiciously.

"You need to stay still and allow the Kigatilik to commence the feeding routine. Instinct will tell you to fight. This is the only way to keep you still."

"Is that really necessary?!" Bobby interjected.

"Yes," Red replied. He didn't wait for Dean's consent but immediately began running the ropes around the arms of the chair together with the young hunter's wrists. The tight binds brought back flashing memories of Dean's time in Ridley's cellar and he struggled to hold back the tide of emotion they threatened to unleash. He looked up at Sam, reminding himself of why he had to be strong, why he had to survive whatever was to come. Sam mustered a smile but the crease of his forehead told Dean more about what was going on inside his little brother's head.

His gaze moved steadily across the room, first to Ellen, then Bobby, Red, and finally to Ridley Miller. In different surroundings and different circumstances, he looked like nothing more than a frail old man who should be watching daytime television with his slippers on in an easy chair. It seemed impossible that he was the same man who had kept Dean cruelly bound up as bait in the middle of the woods for days. The old man's face showed nothing less than complete and abject fear, whether it was for the job he was about to do or the disgust in Dean's eyes, the hunter couldn't be sure. "I'm ready," he ground out from between gritted teeth.

Red turned to Ridley and nodded. The old man cleared his throat uncertainly, seemingly embarrassed at having to perform his horrible ritual in front of others. His voice began as nothing more than a murmur, each word indecipherable and run together in one long sentence of nonsense. Then, as he found his rhythm, Ridley's incantation grew in strength and precision until each syllable of Latin was clear as crystal. Dean closed his eyes against Sam, Bobby and Ellen, the family that were his biggest weakness and allowed his mind to be drawn into the words Ridley spoke.

He didn't know how long he had been listening before Dean felt a cold prickling run from fingertips to toes, the chill that was sickeningly familiar from his days spent in Ridley's cellar. His heart was beating nineteen to the dozen and he could hear it thudding in his ears, set against the rush of his panting breaths. Dean thought he heard a voice call his name in earnest but he was lost to the power of the Kigatilik, whose presence he could feel like electricity in the air all around him. "It's here…" he breathed.

Dean thought he had opened his eyes but he could only see darkness all around him. "Sam?" he called, in a broken whisper. There was sound like static and he wondered if it was only his imagination that told him Sam was talking to him. Then, any awareness outside of himself was crushed in one freezing fist of enveloping ice around his heart. It squeezed every last mote of oxygen from his lungs and spread like tendrils of liquid nitrogen through every valve, artery and capillary. Dean tried to gasp, to draw in a breath from somewhere but he was in a vacuum.

"Red!" Sam shouted, watching in horror as Dean's eyes stared unseeing ahead of him, each breath more constricted than the last until it seemed he wasn't breathing at all.

Bobby held the younger Winchester forcibly back from the circle where Dean battled for his life. "Let Red do what he must. Be strong, Sam!"

Once Ridley had summoned the Kigatilik, the old man had retreated as far into the corner as he could, cowering from the unworldly creation he had brought here. Red was a picture of calm, taking position where Ridley had stood, his eyes closed in a trance like state. If he heard Sam's urgent call or registered Dean's distress, he ignored it, completely focused on the spirit's exorcism.

His voice rose and fell as if in a song, following a strange tune that seemed to evolve and mutate with each chorus. "Bagidenim, gichi manidoo, oh, gizhe manidoo! Giwe odaapnigaade, awaazhish. Gwayakotam ajiwekamig bizaanendamowin!" As he chanted, Red smudged symbols in the air all around the chair where Dean writhed against his bonds.

Sam watched, helpless, as the dark shadow of the spirit pressed against his brother's frail body, merging with mortal flesh, seeming to grow in immensity and looking more solid with every ounce of life force he stole from Dean. His brother's eyes were squeezed shut against the invasion of his body and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair arms in desperation. His chest convulsed with the lack of oxygen getting in and a deathly pallor was spreading across Dean's skin, tinging his lips blue.

Red continued chanting his words, oblivious to anything beyond his connection with the Kigatilik. Then, suddenly a roaring wind burst the front door from its hinges, whirling like a maelstrom around the confined space, forcing Sam, Ellen and Bobby to cower as objects were caught up in the vortex and hurled across the room. Dean's chair was knocked backwards with the force and, above the sound of wind in his ears, Sam thought he could make out an angry roar, inhuman and disembodied. Throughout it all, Red stood firmly in front of the marked circle, his voice lost in the violent gusts swirling above, below and around him but never seeming to touch him. Then, as suddenly as the whirlwind had emerged, it dissipated into thin air, leaving the group of hunters bewildered and momentarily stunned by the sudden calm that descended on them.

Sam was the first to recover, his first thought for Dean. Running into the circle, he skidded to his brother's side. A sliver of blood slid down his forehead, perhaps from flying debris or from the fall. His lips were blue and not even a shiver of movement coursed through the young Winchester's body. "Dean?" Sam pleaded, desperately. He fumbled for a pulse and let out a pent-up sigh of relief when he found it, weak but existent. "He's alive!" Sam called to Bobby and Ellen who were standing back to allow him space. Ellen ran to the bedroom for blankets and the medical kit while Bobby approached the chair and began untying the knots of rope binding Dean's wrists.

Sam put gentle pressure on his brother's shoulder, willing him to wake up. "Dean, come on. Wake up." He watched with relief when there was a flicker of movement beneath Dean's shadowed eyelids. "That's it, come on back to us." Finally, slits of green, dazed and disoriented, found Sam's face. "Hey, we did it." Sam couldn't stifle the smile that crept across his lips. "It's over."

Climbing behind the wheel of the rented Chevrolet Cobalt beside Sam, Dean puffed a breath of air into his cheeks. He was glad the goodbyes were over. The whole debacle was awkward and embarrassing. Not only had the hunt been a complete mess but both Bobby and Ellen had been involved, not to mention a hardened ally of his dad's, who was undoubtedly expecting better Winchester stock than he had found on this occasion. No, Dean knew the quicker he could put Whitehorse and all its associations in his rear view mirror, the better off he'd be. Bobby was getting a taxi to the local airport and a connecting flight home with Ellen accompanying him. They'd totally lost their deposit on the apartment, leaving it trashed and almost unrecognisable, but Dean couldn't be happier. He was back on the road. It might not be his beloved Impala baby, but it was good enough for now.

"You good?" Sam asked as he slammed the passenger door shut.

"Couldn't be better," Dean replied, donning his sunglasses and jacking the stereo up as loud as it would go. Revving the engine into a pleasing purr, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and hit the open road.

THE END

Please, please review - even though it's the last chapter! It has been my baby for so long and I'd really love to hear your feedback.