Crossroad Blues

Rascal hooked a left turn into a gas station and rolled into a spot by the only pump available. The store was a stained yellow and there were bars on the window. The people milling around outside didn’t look friendly, but the two in the El Camino weren’t in very friendly moods. Rascal was grouchy because they were running late and Dean kept quiet for most the ride. He wasn’t scared of pushing her buttons; rather, he was tired of fighting. Rascal looked at the man beside her, hands still on the wheel.

“Do you want anything?”

“A bottle of water would be good,” Dean suggested and she nodded, turning off the engine and standing from the seat. Watching her for a moment, Dean sighed. He needed to stretch his legs. He got out and shut the door heavily, leaning on it and crossing his arms over his chest.

A few crows pecked at the remnants of a sandwich as Dean looked on. He zoned on those three birds hunting for food as his mind wondered. He could feel the clock ticking on his life and didn’t know what to do about it. There was so much he hadn’t achieved, hadn’t seen, hadn’t done, and he would probably never get to do any of it. A sadness washed over him, filled with regret and desperation. But underneath that gut-wrenching feeling was a sense of relief.

After all, he should have been dead already. Just a year ago, he and Sam had been t-boned in the Impala with their father. He, Dean, had nearly died, nearly gone over the edge to the great white abyss. Then John had done something terrible and took Dean’s place. Since then, Dean felt somewhat...empty. Like he had lost something horrible.

“What are you looking at?” Dean jumped slightly at Rascal’s voice. She grinned as she crossed his eye line and held out the bottle of water.

Dean opened it and took a sip as she opened her own bottle. “Just some birds.”

“Ah,” She said, looking over her shoulder at the crows. “They carry the souls of the dead, ya know. Mostly to the afterlife; heaven, hell, what have you. But sometimes, if the attachment to this world is strong enough, the soul latches on to the crow.” Dean stared at her and after a moment, she looked up at him. “What?”

“You really believe that?” He asked incredulously.

“You don’t?” He shook his head at her question. “You see things everyday, things that most people throw into the this-is-for-crazy-people pile and you can’t believe this?”

“I have proof that things go bump in the night. What proof do you have?” She sighed and walked around to the driver side.

“Sometimes you don’t need proof. Sometimes faith is enough.” She said, opening the door and getting into her car. Dean followed suit and she turned the key and looked at him as the engine turned over.

“Faith, in what? Heaven? Some old bearded dude who sits on his ass all day and makes other people do his dirty work for him?” Rascal shook her head and put the car in drive. It was only when they had pulled onto the street that she spoke again.

“I’m not talking about faith in heaven or God, Dean. I mean faith in people. Faith that certain people honestly care enough about you to not lie.”

Dean considered her words and decided to ask a question that he told himself he would never ask another hunter. “Why did you start hunting?” Rascal’s head snapped to glare at him for a moment before going back to the road.

“Why did you?” She asked sardonically. She was expecting a sarcastic answer, an avoidance of the question, anything but the truth.

”My mom died when I was four. My dad was convinced that it was something supernatural and went on a hunt for the demon. He trained us along the way and died before we were able to kill it.” Rascal looked at Dean, obviously surprised. She turned her attention to the road once more and spoke.

“My grandma sold her soul to keep me alive. I got really sick when I was a kid and she couldn’t lose me. So she went to a crossroads demon and well, you know the rest.” There was a hard edge of disapproval to her voice. “I know what you did for Sam. I know you felt you had to. But it’s going to tear Sam apart.”

Dean had the advantage in the conversation; he had nothing to do but stare at Rascal and evaluate her expressions. Right now, she looked sad. “Did it tear you apart?” She gave a hollow laugh.

“No one whole decides to hunt, Dean. You know that.” He clicked his tongue and turned his attention to the road ahead.

“Ain’t that the truth?” The two of them rode in silence for a few moments until Dean decided to change the topic. “So you never told me why we’re driving three hours to the middle of nowhere.”

Rascal sighed but let him change the topic. There was really nothing more to be said about Dean’s decision. He made it and when the bill comes due, he’ll pay it in full. Rascal didn’t truly believe Isadora could help him but when Bobby Singer called, he sounded so desperate that Rascal had to help.

“Isadora got a call from an old neighbor of mine. Miss Lottie is another vodoun practitioner, the only one in the St. Landry Parish, and she seems to be having trouble getting rid of a spirit.”

“Great, more voodoo,” Dean sighed. Rascal threw him a reproachful look.

“It’s just a religion, Dean. A set of beliefs powered by a deity who requires certain practices for worship.”

“Right.” Dean grunted, and Rascal rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Just be polite, okay?”

“Yeah fine.”