Highway to Hell: Episode Three: "Burn In Hell"
Episode Three : Burn In Hell
Episode Wordcount: 10,990
Rating: R for language and violence
Pairing: Dean/Monte (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor do I own any of the songs that make an appearance. I do however own Monte and her world. She is completely mine, or should I say completely me, everything about her is based off me and my life. And I don’t own the Wingate Inn…but it is a real place *winks at Amy*, although I have no idea what the place is exactly like, that I made up. Oh…and I want to thank Teresa bunches…because without her the ending wouldn’t be half as kick ass as it is. *hugs her Teresa tight* Thanks babe.
Summary: AU, I started writing after “Route 666” aired, so anything after that is disregarded, and Meg, even though she came before, will be ignored as well.
Monte insists on taking a break, giving the boys the closet thing to a home they’ve had in years. But when one of Sam’s visions offers up a terrible possibility, what will be the outcome?
Chapter One: Baton Rouge & Bigfoot
Chapter Wordcount: 1602
“Go to hell bitch!” Dean screamed.
“What the fuck?!” Monte’s voice broke though the darkness this time.
“Holy shit!” Sam yelled, his voice wavering slightly.
“Get your fucking hands off me you creepy freak!”
“Oh hell no!” Dean was pissed. Not a good thing.
“Guys, please, can we just…umm, calm down?”
“Shut it Sam!” they both echoed.
A shot rang out in the dark. Only to be followed by more.
“I’m getting pretty sick of this macho shit you seem to have to prove,” she growled snatching Dean’s shotgun from his hands before twisting and stealing Sam’s from his.
*George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” playing in the background*
Rock salt erupted in a bright flash. She spun taking a shot, leveling the short barrel in the crook of her arm and firing, before using the pressure between her bicep and her forearm to cock the weapon again. She turned around behind her, aiming all four barrels at one particular spirit’s head as she once again fired, leaving the ghost to melt into the fog around them.
Dean’s jaw literally dropped as he watched her hold both barrels in one hand to take the shot.
She turned yet again, spinning the guns in her hands, jamming the barrels under her arms to cock them simultaneously, spinning them once again to aim.
“Damn,” Sam whispered in awe.
She lifted both arms out to her side and dissolved two spirits that had been hell bent on crushing her between them.
She saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye and dropped her arm, roughly kicking the barrel of the gun in her left hand and smirking as she heard the weapon cock under the rough treatment before she spun and leveled it…at Dean’s chest.
“Monte wait!” she head Sam scream.
It didn’t matter; she had already stilled her itchy trigger finger.
Dean stumbled to a stop and stared down the barrel of the gun as he felt the memories of a very similar situation at a certain asylum assault him.
Monte saw him flinch and watched as the hundred pounds of weight settled on his shoulders before his gaze dropped to the ground.
He couldn’t breathe; he could still feel the impact the rock salt had upon his chest that night.
She lowered the gun, “Sorry…”
Dean bit his lip and nodded.
“You boys go take care of that mass grave in the basement. I’ll stick up here.”
Sam shouldered the duffle and started down the rickety old steps leading to the basement of this long abandoned hotel.
Dean was right behind him mumbling something about racist freaks.
The building in Baton Rouge was set to be demolished and have a new hotel built in its place, only problem was there was about a dozen confederate soldiers buried underneath it.
A dozen very pissed off confederate soldiers that had been killed by the slaves they were trying to prevent from escaping on the Underground Railroad.
A dozen very pissed off confederate soldiers that needed to be taken care of before any more people were harmed. There had already been strange…poltergeist activity.
The hotel had been abandoned for years, the graffiti and empty beer bottles and cans as evidence to that, but lately had been inspected by the construction crews and surveyors that were preparing for the demolition. They were the ones that the trio had heard of the strange goings on from.
Dean and Sam trudged their way back to the grave they had unearthed earlier.
Dean snatched the gallon gas can from Sam’s hands and emptied the entire contents on to the bones below.
Sam watched him from the corner of his eye as he poured the salt over top of the mass.
Dean lit a match he had procured from his pocket and dropped it, smiling somewhat evilly as the flames licked up the sides of its dirt prison.
“Goodbye you bastards.”
Monte leaned against the doorjamb at the top of the stairs. “We good?”
Dean made his way back up the steps and stopped next to her, turning to look down that the bonfire below. “Yup, I’m good,” he smiled, snatching his gun back. “Just don’t take my weapon from me like that again and we won’t have a problem,” he winked before walking past her and back towards the Impala.
Monte and Sam shared a smile before turning and following him.
Back at the motel Dean snagged the shower while Monte tended to some scrapes and bruises Sam had gotten when he was dragged across the rough floor of the hotel.
She had finished placing the gauze over the worst ones and medicating the others and had laid back down on the other bed when the bathroom door opened letting a blast of hot fog roll out like some bad techno dance club.
Dean emerged with spiky wet hair and a towel around his waist just in time to see Monte grab the headboard behind her and arch her back obscenely, listening to the pops that her spine made.
Dean stood still and stared, the muscles under the skin of his cheek rippling as he clenched his jaw.
She moaned at the feeling of looseness that traveled down her back and opened her half lidded eyes to see Dean glaring at her, death grip on the towel he was holding around his waist.
He turned and stormed back into the bathroom slamming the door and returning to the shower.
A minute later they heard a muffled gasp and a thud against the wall as he turned the faucet as cold as he could get it.
Monte smiled mischievously as Sam looked over at her.
“That was evil you know.”
She shrugged, “You gotta admit that was priceless though.”
Sam gave an exaggerated thinking face and then shrugged, “Yea, totally worth it,” he smiled.
Dean came back out a few minutes later. “You’re so gonna pay for that.”
Monte just winked.
The next morning Dean rolled over groggily and threw his arm over the side of the bed and realized Monte wasn’t there.
He cracked his eye open and could see nothing but a sea of yellow.
“What the…”
He reached up and snatched a post-it note off his forehead.
Changing my oil, right outside, don’t freak out ; )
He rolled his eyes and got out of bed, tossing the post-it on the end table.
He noticed Sam’s bed was already empty and made and pulled on a pair of his jeans and a t-shirt from his bag before heading outside.
*Styx’s “Renegade” playing in the background*
The Monte Carlo’s front end was held up in the air by two bright red jacks and Dean saw Monte’s boots sticking out from under the front bumper.
He squatted down in front of the car and slapped her foot.
“You should use jack stands ya know.”
She shrugged as she replaced the oil filter. “Me and my dad never did. As long as you take care of your jacks and don’t try fucking in the car while they’re up or whatever you’re pretty safe. I’ve never had one fail me.”
Dean smirked at the fucking comment but left it alone. “Where’s Sam?”
“He went to get coffee,” she said replacing the drain plug.
She scooted her way back out and Dean stood up offering a hand and pulling her to her feet.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and there was grease and oil on her hands, a couple stray smudges on her arms and shirt and one across her forehead where apparently she had tried to brush her hair out of her face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever see anything more beautiful in my life,” Dean grinned.
She rolled her eyes and walked to the side of the car, opening the container of new oil and pouring it into the funnel.
“I got an extra bottle of Pennzoil and a filter for yours, whenever it’s ready for a change.”
“Thanks.”
Just then Sam came walking through the parking lot with some cups in hand and a bag on his arm.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” he smiled at Dean handing him his coffee. “Black.”
Dean grinned and took a chug of the boiling liquid.
He handed one to Monte, “French Vanilla Cappuccino,” he grinned.
She sighed and wiped her greasy hand on her jeans before reaching out. “Did I ever tell you that you’re my hero Sammy?,” she grinned.
He just shook his head with a grin and placed the bag on the fan shroud of the car. “And…I got you carb junkies some donuts and chips for the road.”
“Speaking of…did you find anything last night worth looking at?” Dean asked as his hand snaked into the bag returning with a powdered donut.
Monte rolled her eyes as the white sugar made a mess out of Dean’s face and black t-shirt.
“The only thing even worth a second glance was someone that claimed they saw Bigfoot in North Dakota.”
Dean grimaced, “Wrong damn time of the year to be going to North Dakota.” It was already the beginning of December.
Monte smiled. “Let’s just hit the road and see where it takes us.”
“What?” Dean laughed.
She squatted back down and lowered the jacks, the car’s suspension groaning as it accepted its weight, before pulling them out and placing them back in her trunk.
“What what? I’m serious.”
Dean gave her a look. “Sorry, you just sounded like some poetic song writer.”
Monte slapped him in the back of the head as she walked back to the motel room.
Previous: Deleted Scene #1 | Next: Chapter Two
Highway to Hell Master Post
Episode Wordcount: 10,990
Rating: R for language and violence
Pairing: Dean/Monte (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor do I own any of the songs that make an appearance. I do however own Monte and her world. She is completely mine, or should I say completely me, everything about her is based off me and my life. And I don’t own the Wingate Inn…but it is a real place *winks at Amy*, although I have no idea what the place is exactly like, that I made up. Oh…and I want to thank Teresa bunches…because without her the ending wouldn’t be half as kick ass as it is. *hugs her Teresa tight* Thanks babe.
Summary: AU, I started writing after “Route 666” aired, so anything after that is disregarded, and Meg, even though she came before, will be ignored as well.
Monte insists on taking a break, giving the boys the closet thing to a home they’ve had in years. But when one of Sam’s visions offers up a terrible possibility, what will be the outcome?
Chapter One: Baton Rouge & Bigfoot
Chapter Wordcount: 1602
“Go to hell bitch!” Dean screamed.
“What the fuck?!” Monte’s voice broke though the darkness this time.
“Holy shit!” Sam yelled, his voice wavering slightly.
“Get your fucking hands off me you creepy freak!”
“Oh hell no!” Dean was pissed. Not a good thing.
“Guys, please, can we just…umm, calm down?”
“Shut it Sam!” they both echoed.
A shot rang out in the dark. Only to be followed by more.
“I’m getting pretty sick of this macho shit you seem to have to prove,” she growled snatching Dean’s shotgun from his hands before twisting and stealing Sam’s from his.
*George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” playing in the background*
Rock salt erupted in a bright flash. She spun taking a shot, leveling the short barrel in the crook of her arm and firing, before using the pressure between her bicep and her forearm to cock the weapon again. She turned around behind her, aiming all four barrels at one particular spirit’s head as she once again fired, leaving the ghost to melt into the fog around them.
Dean’s jaw literally dropped as he watched her hold both barrels in one hand to take the shot.
She turned yet again, spinning the guns in her hands, jamming the barrels under her arms to cock them simultaneously, spinning them once again to aim.
“Damn,” Sam whispered in awe.
She lifted both arms out to her side and dissolved two spirits that had been hell bent on crushing her between them.
She saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye and dropped her arm, roughly kicking the barrel of the gun in her left hand and smirking as she heard the weapon cock under the rough treatment before she spun and leveled it…at Dean’s chest.
“Monte wait!” she head Sam scream.
It didn’t matter; she had already stilled her itchy trigger finger.
Dean stumbled to a stop and stared down the barrel of the gun as he felt the memories of a very similar situation at a certain asylum assault him.
Monte saw him flinch and watched as the hundred pounds of weight settled on his shoulders before his gaze dropped to the ground.
He couldn’t breathe; he could still feel the impact the rock salt had upon his chest that night.
She lowered the gun, “Sorry…”
Dean bit his lip and nodded.
“You boys go take care of that mass grave in the basement. I’ll stick up here.”
Sam shouldered the duffle and started down the rickety old steps leading to the basement of this long abandoned hotel.
Dean was right behind him mumbling something about racist freaks.
The building in Baton Rouge was set to be demolished and have a new hotel built in its place, only problem was there was about a dozen confederate soldiers buried underneath it.
A dozen very pissed off confederate soldiers that had been killed by the slaves they were trying to prevent from escaping on the Underground Railroad.
A dozen very pissed off confederate soldiers that needed to be taken care of before any more people were harmed. There had already been strange…poltergeist activity.
The hotel had been abandoned for years, the graffiti and empty beer bottles and cans as evidence to that, but lately had been inspected by the construction crews and surveyors that were preparing for the demolition. They were the ones that the trio had heard of the strange goings on from.
Dean and Sam trudged their way back to the grave they had unearthed earlier.
Dean snatched the gallon gas can from Sam’s hands and emptied the entire contents on to the bones below.
Sam watched him from the corner of his eye as he poured the salt over top of the mass.
Dean lit a match he had procured from his pocket and dropped it, smiling somewhat evilly as the flames licked up the sides of its dirt prison.
“Goodbye you bastards.”
Monte leaned against the doorjamb at the top of the stairs. “We good?”
Dean made his way back up the steps and stopped next to her, turning to look down that the bonfire below. “Yup, I’m good,” he smiled, snatching his gun back. “Just don’t take my weapon from me like that again and we won’t have a problem,” he winked before walking past her and back towards the Impala.
Monte and Sam shared a smile before turning and following him.
Back at the motel Dean snagged the shower while Monte tended to some scrapes and bruises Sam had gotten when he was dragged across the rough floor of the hotel.
She had finished placing the gauze over the worst ones and medicating the others and had laid back down on the other bed when the bathroom door opened letting a blast of hot fog roll out like some bad techno dance club.
Dean emerged with spiky wet hair and a towel around his waist just in time to see Monte grab the headboard behind her and arch her back obscenely, listening to the pops that her spine made.
Dean stood still and stared, the muscles under the skin of his cheek rippling as he clenched his jaw.
She moaned at the feeling of looseness that traveled down her back and opened her half lidded eyes to see Dean glaring at her, death grip on the towel he was holding around his waist.
He turned and stormed back into the bathroom slamming the door and returning to the shower.
A minute later they heard a muffled gasp and a thud against the wall as he turned the faucet as cold as he could get it.
Monte smiled mischievously as Sam looked over at her.
“That was evil you know.”
She shrugged, “You gotta admit that was priceless though.”
Sam gave an exaggerated thinking face and then shrugged, “Yea, totally worth it,” he smiled.
Dean came back out a few minutes later. “You’re so gonna pay for that.”
Monte just winked.
The next morning Dean rolled over groggily and threw his arm over the side of the bed and realized Monte wasn’t there.
He cracked his eye open and could see nothing but a sea of yellow.
“What the…”
He reached up and snatched a post-it note off his forehead.
Changing my oil, right outside, don’t freak out ; )
He rolled his eyes and got out of bed, tossing the post-it on the end table.
He noticed Sam’s bed was already empty and made and pulled on a pair of his jeans and a t-shirt from his bag before heading outside.
*Styx’s “Renegade” playing in the background*
The Monte Carlo’s front end was held up in the air by two bright red jacks and Dean saw Monte’s boots sticking out from under the front bumper.
He squatted down in front of the car and slapped her foot.
“You should use jack stands ya know.”
She shrugged as she replaced the oil filter. “Me and my dad never did. As long as you take care of your jacks and don’t try fucking in the car while they’re up or whatever you’re pretty safe. I’ve never had one fail me.”
Dean smirked at the fucking comment but left it alone. “Where’s Sam?”
“He went to get coffee,” she said replacing the drain plug.
She scooted her way back out and Dean stood up offering a hand and pulling her to her feet.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and there was grease and oil on her hands, a couple stray smudges on her arms and shirt and one across her forehead where apparently she had tried to brush her hair out of her face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever see anything more beautiful in my life,” Dean grinned.
She rolled her eyes and walked to the side of the car, opening the container of new oil and pouring it into the funnel.
“I got an extra bottle of Pennzoil and a filter for yours, whenever it’s ready for a change.”
“Thanks.”
Just then Sam came walking through the parking lot with some cups in hand and a bag on his arm.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” he smiled at Dean handing him his coffee. “Black.”
Dean grinned and took a chug of the boiling liquid.
He handed one to Monte, “French Vanilla Cappuccino,” he grinned.
She sighed and wiped her greasy hand on her jeans before reaching out. “Did I ever tell you that you’re my hero Sammy?,” she grinned.
He just shook his head with a grin and placed the bag on the fan shroud of the car. “And…I got you carb junkies some donuts and chips for the road.”
“Speaking of…did you find anything last night worth looking at?” Dean asked as his hand snaked into the bag returning with a powdered donut.
Monte rolled her eyes as the white sugar made a mess out of Dean’s face and black t-shirt.
“The only thing even worth a second glance was someone that claimed they saw Bigfoot in North Dakota.”
Dean grimaced, “Wrong damn time of the year to be going to North Dakota.” It was already the beginning of December.
Monte smiled. “Let’s just hit the road and see where it takes us.”
“What?” Dean laughed.
She squatted back down and lowered the jacks, the car’s suspension groaning as it accepted its weight, before pulling them out and placing them back in her trunk.
“What what? I’m serious.”
Dean gave her a look. “Sorry, you just sounded like some poetic song writer.”
Monte slapped him in the back of the head as she walked back to the motel room.
Previous: Deleted Scene #1 | Next: Chapter Two
Highway to Hell Master Post