They were a couple of blocks from the motel, heading up Main, when a car darted out of a side road directly in front of them. Its driver slammed on the brakes and the car swerved, coming to a stop across both lanes.
Dean reacted, stomping on his own brakes. The Impala fishtailed, then caught a patch of black ice on the roadway and launched into an uncontrolled slide. He wrestled with the wheel, but it did no good. His precious car would end up where it ended up.
Which, at the moment, looked to Sam like it would be right on top of the car that had startled them both.
It was a station wagon, roughly a thousand years old, with fake wood paneling on the sides, rust growing around the wheel wells like lichen on rocks, and a ladder in the back along with some paint buckets and drop cloths. Sam could see all this in the headlights with perfect clarity as the Impala skated toward it.
He could also see its driver, a skinny young man wearing a baggy fatigue coat, with long greasy hair that flopped into his face as he rushed from the car. He didn’t bother closing his door, possibly more worried about trying to keep his balance on the ice and not shoot himself in the leg with the cannon he carried.
Okay, not a cannon exactly, but when he raced around behind the wagon and propped his arm on its top and leveled the .358 at them, its muzzle looked like one.
“Dean—”
“I know!”
That was all they had time for. The Impala slid to a graceful stop about three feet away from the station wagon, side by side with it.
Which meant that when they got out, Sam’s head would be about level with that big gun.
“We’re not looking for a kid with a gun, right?” he asked. “Old man, right?”
“Old man, Indian, bear…we’re looking for a lot of things,” Dean replied. “But this is the first I’ve heard about a kid.”
“Looks like maybe he’s looking for us.”
Dean opened his door and got out, using careful, measured motions. He showed the kid his empty hands. “Easy, pal,” he said as he did so. “I think there’s some kind of confusion here, but we can straighten it out.”
With the kid’s attention focused on Dean, Sam risked getting out on his own side. He raised empty hands toward the kid, too. The kid’s gaze snapped between the two of them, the gun’s muzzle shifting along with it. “Let’s talk about this,” Sam said.
“I just want to know which one of you it is,” the kid said. His voice quaked. He was scared, which worried Sam all the more. Scared people weren’t exactly known for steady trigger fingers, or for careful consideration of their actions.
“Which one what is?” Dean snapped. “Dude, you got the gun, least you could do is be clear about what you’re doing with it.”
“Don’t play dumb,” the kid warned. “I saw you all.”
“Saw what?” Sam asked.
“I saw Heather go to your hotel room, in the middle of the night.” He twitched the gun at Sam. “I saw you open the door in your underwear and let her in. Don’t tell me you’re both doing her.”
“You were following Heather?” Sam asked, bewildered. The station wagon, he realized, must have been the car Dean saw behind them earlier. When the kid knew for sure that Heather was going home, he turned off so he could be in place to lay this trap.
“She’s my girlfriend,” the kid said. “I was talking to her on the phone earlier, and she sounded weird. Plus we were supposed to go out tonight, but she canceled on me.”
“She probably canceled because it’s not safe to be out tonight,” Sam said.
“I already thought she was cheating on me, but I couldn’t figure out with who. Now I know. You guys are all tall and buff and such.”
“You only think you know, kid,” Dean said. “But you’re wrong, except for the tall and buff part. Put that peashooter down and let’s talk. Preferably inside.”
“I know what I saw.”
“You saw Heather come to our room for something totally unrelated to sex,” Sam said.
“Why don’t you tell me why, then?”
“It’s a little hard to explain,” Dean said.
“Right.”
“Look, it’s freezing out here,” Dean said, “so if you’re going to shoot us, just go ahead and freaking do it! A hot bullet and a hospital bed would feel good right about now.”
The kid’s hands started trembling harder, the gun in them wagging dangerously now. Sam knew Dean didn’t really want to get shot, and neither did he. But if they didn’t get the kid disarmed soon, something disastrous would happen.
Just keep yakking at him, Dean, he thought as he began slowly working his way toward the rear of the wagon. It was a long way around the big car, and getting to the kid unnoticed would be almost impossible. But going over or under would surely result in a panicked shot fired. Unless he could be persuaded to put it down, slow and steady was the only way to reach the gun.
“You!” the kid shouted, swinging the gun around to keep it lined up on Sam’s head. “Keep still!”
“Hit the dirt, Sammy!” Dean called.
When Dean said something like that, he usually had good reason, and Sam had learned to go along with him. He did so now, hurling himself to the ground, trying to keep the wagon’s rear wheel between himself and the kid.
As he had suspected, the kid took the sudden move as an assault. He crouched and fired, but without aiming, and his first shot went into the ground. Before he could squeeze off a second, Dean was in motion, clomping onto the Impala’s hood and launching himself from there onto the station wagon’s. From there he dropped onto the kid like vengeance from above. By the time Sam scrambled to his feet and around the car, Dean was tucking the Magnum into his waistband and the kid was up against his station wagon, disheveled but apparently unharmed.
“I told you, bud, you’ve got it wrong,” Dean said. “We have nothing to do with Heather. Not that way. You want to know anything more about it, though, you’ll have to ask her.”
“Yeah,” the kid muttered. “And tell her I was following her.”
“That’s something you’ll have to work out,” Dean said. “Sooner the better, if you ask me. Trust is a pretty important part of a relationship.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t want her to know that I didn’t trust her.”
“Do you?”
“You’ve seen her,” the kid said. “Do you think she’d be satisfied with a loser like me for long? She’s probably met all kinds of guys at college.”
“She probably has,” Sam agreed. “And if she’s still with you, it’s because she wants to be with you. You might want to think about appreciating that instead of questioning it.”
“I guess.” He frowned at the road, looking sullen and petulant. But maybe, Sam hoped, having learned at least one lesson—don’t pull a gun on two guys unless you intend to use it immediately.
“Can I have my gun back? It’s my dad’s.”
“You tried to shoot my brother,” Dean said.
“It is kind of dangerous around here, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe you should let him keep it.”
Dean studied the kid for a few seconds, then drew the gun from his waistband and emptied the bullets out. “Here you go,” he said, handing over the empty weapon. “There’s one in the chamber, in case you run into trouble on the way home. Like Sammy said, there are real dangers out tonight, so if you’re attacked by an old soldier or a bear or an Indian, something like that, you might want to use it. Otherwise, you’re best off giving it back to your dad and forgetting you ever took it.”
The kid took the gun, weighed it in his hand for a couple of seconds. “Okay, thanks.” He stood there like he thought there should be something else said, then shrugged again and opened the passenger-side door. He slid across the bench seat, leaving the gun beside him on the right, and started the car.
“Let’s get back to the room,” Dean said. “This sucks. Why’d I even let you talk me into going in the first place?”
Sam climbed back into the Impala. “I’m glad you came,” he said. He barely got the sentence out when he started laughing.
“What? Something funny I’m not seeing?”
“Just thinking about you giving advice on relationships and trust,” Sam said.
“Hey, I’ve had relationships!”
“Yeah. The longest lasted, what, a month? And how many of them started with you lying about who you are and what you do?”
“Case you haven’t noticed, Sammy, women don’t exactly flock around hunters. And you can’t really blame ’em. We’re not the most stable individuals around.”
“No, we’re not. We’re bad bets for long-term things, but good investments on life insurance.”
“There’s a selling point I hadn’t thought of.” Dean started the engine and got the Impala back on the road, headed for the Trail’s End. “Hook up with us and see a quick return on your premiums.” He laughed. “I like it, Sammy. Think we can fit it on a bumper sticker?”