Cheating Death

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Brian gave an enormous sniff. He cracked his eyes open from a dreamless sleep. He twisted his head to the intruder who woke him from his sleep. He groaned from the crick in his neck. He wound down the window to reveal a middle aged man with greying hair, a hardy face and a trucker cap tugged snugly atop his head.

“What do you want?” Brian croaked his voice hoarse from sleep.

“What are you doin’ in the middle of the road?” the man out of the window shot back.

“My car broke down. Did the road service send you?” The other man simply shook his head, shrugging. Brian just remembered the emergency call he had made last night. The service had no attempt of actually finding him and they had left him sleeping in his car for the rest of the night. He groaned, irritation bubbling in him that nothing came out from the call except from a bad crick in his neck.

After he rubbed his eyes to free some sleep from his eyes, he glanced back to the man. The man’s face had turned into an abhorrent decaying face, tongue and eyes rolling. Brian gave a disgusted gasp. He blinked and rubbed his eyes again before returning his sights back to the man. His face had returned to normal but with a curious and suspicious expression.

“Can I see what’s wrong with your car?” the grey haired man shook his head to the hood of Brian’s car, ignoring the horrified look upon the younger man’s face.

“Sure, whatever. I don’t think you really can do anything out here anyway. The distributor cap and wires are all fucked.” Brian shook off the residue of fear and composed himself.

“I have an auto shop not far from here. I can get my truck and hook you out of here.” At the older man’s words, Brian gave a sigh of happiness. Finally something was turning out good for him.

“You have no idea how thankful I am.” He said, following the other man who was already hooking up his truck to the beautiful ’73 Monte Carlo.

“Just get in my truck and I’ll see what I can do.” Brian did what he was told and jumped in his truck. It was safe to say that it was old, of a model that he wasn’t too sure of. He could slightly smell rum and some other musty smell that he wasn’t too certain of either. He felt awkward sitting in a stranger’s car. The other man had finished hooking up the car and he slid in the driver seat. Brian realised that he didn’t know what this man’s name was.

“What’s your name?”

“Bobby. Bobby Singer.” He said as he pulled into drive. Brian nodded, repeating his name in his head to ensure that he remembered it.

“Brian.” He returned, giving a small wave to Bobby, his long crooked fingers twinkling slightly. Bobby only nodded, fading into an awkward silence where both of the men weren’t sure what to say. Brian glanced out of the window, watching the passing scenery. Not too long, they have reached a property. The gates had an arch that had ‘Singer Auto Salvage’ on it. It was rusted in many places. He raised his left eyebrow as he studied his new surroundings. The car turned to a stop right outside of an open garage. A black 1967 Chevy Impala sat inside, a pair of denim legs sticking out from beneath the car. Brian slammed the door shut as he leaped out of the truck. He turned to face Bobby and he gave a gulp. Bobby was sending him an intense suspicious stare.

“Get inside. I will give you something to eat and drink.” Bobby demanded, pushing Brian inside his house which was just near the garage. Brian stepped in the threshold that led into the kitchen. It had mismatched curtains and retro appliances. It was definitely bachelor-like, without a spot of femininity. Bobby handed Brian a hip flask with the same stare.

“It’s only…” Brian looked around for a clock. There was one hanging above the small folding table. It said it was 8 o’clock in the morning. “Eight?”

“Just drink it.” Bobby pressed threateningly. Slightly scared of Bobby’s demeanour, Brian accepted. After he took a sip, he made a face. There weren’t any of that familiar burn of alcohol in the flask. It was only water.

“It’s just water…?” Brian raised his eyebrow. Bobby’s demeanour changed. It turned from suspicion to something like relief. Brian thought that man was too paranoid for his own good. But then again, Brian knew about the demons. Maybe this man knew about the things that go bump in the night? He only could wonder.

A very tall man with brown locks framing his face walked in. He had a long face with a sloped nose and warm brown eyes. He glanced at Brian with his eyebrows raised, silently questioning Bobby. Bobby sighed before replying.

“He needs help with his car.”

“Oh.” The tall man nodded in understanding. He slid his large hand to Brian. “I’m Sam.”

“Brian.” He took Sam’s hand.

“So, what brings you this way?”

“Uh…” Brian was robbed of the right answer. He needed something vague. “Just personal business.” At least that part was true.

Sam stared at him, his eyebrows raised. Brian stared back, daring him. The taller man broke the staring competition, accepting Brian’s sketchy response. They were interrupted by a man jogging into the door. He was shorter and stockier than Sam with bold hazel eyes and cropped brown hair. He had a confident grin playing at his pursed lips. Brian recognised the man’s denim trousers as the pair that had been sticking out beneath the Impala he saw in the garage.

“Dude, whose car was that Monte Carlo? It’s… a beauty.” The man gave a chuckle, pointing behind him with his thumb.

“It’s mine.” Brian gave a smug smile. The man turned his attention to Brian. “The Impala sure is nice.”

“Isn’t it!” his grin became wider with pride for his beloved car. Brian liked him already. He seemed to be alike to Brian, or as how he used to be before the hellhounds began coming after him. “So, what’s wrong with the Monte Carlo?” the man asked.

“The cap and wires got messed up.”

The man gave a shrug that seemed to say ‘no big deal’. “I can help with that.” He said. Brian followed him out of the door before he was stopped short by the man leading him. He turned around to face Brian. He was only an inch or so shorter than Brian.

“My bad, I’m Dean.” He held out his hand. Brian shook it, just like he did to Sam. They continued towards the garage, yabbering away about their mutual love of American muscle cars. Bobby leaned against his door, rolling his eyes as Sam chuckled beside him.

Brian was forever thankful for the three men for helping with his car. The problem he had with his car was simple, so it was easily accomplished in half an hour. Brian was ready to go with spare parts resting in the back seat in a cardboard box. This was a lesson to him: always have spare parts just in case, no matter what.

“Thanks. Really.” Brian said as he slid in his fixed car. The three men who were standing just out from the driver side all shrugged.

“No problem.” Bobby said.

“Call me if you have trouble with your car.” Dean chimed in, making a telephone shape with his hand accompanied with a smirk. Sam simply just smiled as he waved. Brian pulled into drive and drove out from the salvage yard. Finally, he was able to finish what he had done.