It Happened One Night

It's the last night of his life, and he's doing what he's done thousands of times; sat in this seat, reading a newspaper by the feeble illumination of the dome light. There's a donut box on the seat. Dean's polished off four jelly donuts, but there are two maple walnut glaze in the box, because those are what Sam likes, and he wasn't thinking straight when he placed the order.

Out of habit, he circles a couple of screwy news articles, but sets that section aside as he reminds himself that he won't be here to follow up on any cases, and Sam will probably be too upset to work for a while. Okay, so! The crossword puzzle at the crossroads. Just the thing as he waits for the bitch to show...

It's almost midnight. Are demons known for punctuality? It probably depends. They may leave him cooling his heels, knowing that he's here waiting, but if he was elsewhere tonight---if he looked like he was having fun---then they'd be on him like white on rice. Dean hears something outside the car, and opens the door. He'd rather have a few blood spatters on his baby than have the hellhounds trash her trying to get to him.

Yeah, it's a hellhound, and the red-eyed son-of-a-bitch is lifting his leg on one of the Impala's back tires. "Hey!" Dean bellows "What do you think you're doing?" Without regard for his personal safety---because, after all, his lifespan can be numbered in minutes at this point---he lunges forward and swats the beast across the nose with the rolled-up newspaper. "You can rip my throat out, but you can not! piss! on! my! car!"

Steam is rising from the wet sidewall, and Dean snaps. Never mind that it looks like Spuds McKenzie on steroids and has teeth like chisels. He grabs the infernal canine by the snout and rubs its nose in the puddle. "No!" he roars at it. "Bad dog!"

Clearly, the hellhound isn't used to being challenged. It looks astonished, and Dean, who grew up roughhousing with a succession of Bobby's junkyard dogs, flips it onto its back and grips the scruff of its neck, demonstrating to the beast how defenseless it is in this position.

The hellhound whines.

Dean releases it and steps back, allowing it to get back to its feet. "Do not mess with the car, got it?" he demands. He smacks the hellhound with the paper again, and it's a damn quick learner, because it hits the dirt and rolls over, exposing its belly.

"Reject!" Dean scoffs, reaching out to scratch it. "What happened, you flunked out of mauling-the-damned school?" With unerring accuracy, born of years of scuffling with salvage yard mutts, he finds the sweet spot and watches as the dog's back leg jerks convulsively. "You are so easy!"

This might not be so bad, if he's got the pooch in his corner when he gets to the Other Side. Even if it does seem to be kinda wimpy as hellhounds go. Crap. Hopefully its mistress won't construe that as a serious attempt to break the deal. He was defending his car, not his life, after all. "Alright, alright, let's get on with it, huh?"

The malefic harbinger rolls over and jumps up, shaking itself off. A moment later, a melodious voice croons, "Good evening, Dean. I see you've met Ragnar." This demon is a hottie---it seems to have a talent for finding cute chicks---and Dean wishes he'd met its host body under more congenial circumstances.

The hellhound in front of him lets out a gruff woof as she continues. "I'm surprised you're still standing. He's the alpha of my little pack, the most feared and ferocious hound in all of Hell."

Yeah, right. Ferocious.

Three more hounds have appeared from the shadows and are prancing by her side, obviously awaiting her command to sic him. In contrast, Ragnar is motionless. Dean has the impression the dog is coiled like a snake getting ready to strike, and when he does, good-bye jugular.

"But you'll find all that out in your new life," she says with a little laugh. "Take him down, boys!"

The three hounds by her side surge forward, but stop when Ragnar snarls at them. They whine and back off.

"You want this kill for yourself, Ragnar?" She smiles. "Okay, Ragnar---get him!"

The hellhound just looks at her.

"What's the matter with you?" she berates the dog. "Get him!"

Ragnar takes three steps toward his pack and barks at them with all the ferocity previously advertised by his mistress. They turn tail and disappear back into the darkness as the alpha snarls at the demon, whose mouth hangs open.

"What did you do to my dog?" she demands, and Dean just shrugs, as surprised as she is.

"Hey, you're the one who said he was the hellhound badass of all time. I can't help it if he likes me. Good boy, Ragnar!"

"I told you what would happen if you tried to break our deal…."

His heart plummets. "Look, he's your dog! You want to take me, fine. I'm here, I'm ready to go, let's do it! Just leave Sam out of it."

"You're both in jeopardy now," she informs him, malice in her tone. "Your brother may be safe in warded space right now, but if he leaves it before sunrise, he's dead meat. And you---you think hellhounds are the worst thing I can summon? I think you'll find out differently very soon."

Then the host body convulses. The demon-essence spews from her mouth, then she slumps to the ground. Ragnar sniffs at her and growls.

"No!" Dean says sharply. His mind is racing. He's still alive, but Sam's in danger. He flips open his cell, but there's no signal.

"Where am I?" the recently-possessed girl asks. "What the hell just happened?"

Calm her down, take her to some place where he can make a phone call, warn Sam…. "You ran out into the road," he says, lying as naturally as breathing. First rule: Don't panic the civilians. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

"Bullshit," she says, "I was leaving work---" and Dean's ready to say 'Screw you, too' and bolt for the car. "Something grabbed me in the parking lot…."

"It wasn't me," Dean says. "Do you want a ride or not?"

"You're Dean."

"How did you know that?" he asks, as Ragnar growls deep in his throat.

"I…I just do. We'd better get out of here."

The girl's name is Corrine, and she looks askance at Ragnar, who's hanging his huge head over the back of the front seat.

Dean guns the motor and peels out. He notices with a sinking feeling, that there's less than a quarter of a tank registering on the fuel gauge. There's got to be a gas station around here somewhere.

Too much fatalism, he thinks with savage irony. He didn't bother to fill the tank, because the crossroads was going to be his last stop. Hadn't charged his phone, because the idea of getting cell reception in Hell was a joke. Picked a place out in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, because of Rule #2: Civilian casualties are unacceptable. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"What the hell---? What did---? Was I possessed?" Corrine demands, her tone somewhere between panic and indignation. It's rare for a host to remember being possessed, although it might be because so many of them don't survive exorcism. Then too, possession isn't a medically recognized condition, so a lot of them get locked up as schizophrenic. The demon left voluntarily in this case, maybe that's why.

All things considered, she's handling this pretty well for a civilian---even Ragnar, whose glowing red eyes are kinda putting Dean off up close. The hellhound is slobbering down the back of the seat, and Dean's almost sure the vinyl is smoking—and not in a good way.

"Dude, try a Tic-Tac," he says to the hound, who tilts his head in perplexity. "Lie down, will ya?"

He checks the cell, which hasn't magically charged in the last three seconds. "Yeah," he says, "you were possessed. I hear that really sucks. There's some aspirin in the glove box."

She's wary enough to turn on the dome light for a closer inspection of the tablets, and damn! If she looked good in black and white, she's a knockout in color: tawny hair curls around her face, and even with great bone structure, it's her big brown eyes that are her most outstanding feature.

"You want to explain all this?" Corrine asks after she's dry-swallowed some aspirin and put back the bottle, and no, the damn phone still hasn't charged.

For a moment the car is quiet except for the wind rushing though the windows and the sound of Ragnar rustling around in the back seat. "Demons exist," Dean says, his voice flat. "I've been hunting them most of my life, me and my dad and my brother, ever since a demon killed my mom." She gasps, but doesn't say anything. "Dad died two years ago, and then, a year ago tonight, my brother Sam was murdered."

"How terrible! But---that…that demon, I could hear it thinking---"

"I made a deal with it," Dean interrupts. "My brother's life in exchange for my soul, to be surrendered in one year. That year was up tonight. Now it's found an excuse to try to claim us both, and that's not gonna happen. I have to warn him."