A dusty book of Appalachian lore sets his pulse racing.
Come All Hallows Eve, ye jes hunt up that ol red oak down the holler. The one what dont go green in the summertime nor drop its leaves come the fall. Brang wi ye a halfpint o whisky and sacks o salt and flour, and somethin what belonged to the one ye lost.
All these years it’s gnawed him. Curdled in the back of his mind.
“I know what happened to your girlfriend!”
Some random mook demon with a plane crash fetish fucked with him in ways even Lucifer never quite managed.
“Even now, she's burning!”
He figures the hard part’ll be talking Dean into a trip to Kentucky.
**
“Meth hogs.”
“Come again?”
“Basically regular wild pigs, mutated from drinking meth lab runoff.”
“So, no bacon then.”
A chuckle. “No, I-uh, wouldn’t recommend it.”
Dean stands. “Where to?”
“Harlan, Kentucky.”
“Sweet! Like Justified. Gimme ten.”
“You got it, Boyd.”
“Boyd? Pft. I’m totally Raylan.”
Not so hard after all.
**
The story is bullshit. One article on some goofball Haunted Kentucky website, no sources, no corroboration. Speaks to how stir crazy Dean’s been ever since…
Couple of days of locals looking at them like they’re the ones drinking the meth lab runoff and Dean’s ready to call it quits.
“Let’s give it the night.” Yawn. Stretch. “We head out in the morning we won’t have to sleep in the car.”
Narrow eyes, but “All right.” Dean ditches his Fed suit, grabs the keys. “Don’t wait up.”
FILL: "Red Oak" (1/2) - Gen. Sam. A visit from a ghost.
Come All Hallows Eve, ye jes hunt up that ol red oak down the holler. The one what dont go green in the summertime nor drop its leaves come the fall. Brang wi ye a halfpint o whisky and sacks o salt and flour, and somethin what belonged to the one ye lost.
All these years it’s gnawed him. Curdled in the back of his mind.
“I know what happened to your girlfriend!”
Some random mook demon with a plane crash fetish fucked with him in ways even Lucifer never quite managed.
“Even now, she's burning!”
He figures the hard part’ll be talking Dean into a trip to Kentucky.
**
“Meth hogs.”
“Come again?”
“Basically regular wild pigs, mutated from drinking meth lab runoff.”
“So, no bacon then.”
A chuckle. “No, I-uh, wouldn’t recommend it.”
Dean stands. “Where to?”
“Harlan, Kentucky.”
“Sweet! Like Justified. Gimme ten.”
“You got it, Boyd.”
“Boyd? Pft. I’m totally Raylan.”
Not so hard after all.
**
The story is bullshit. One article on some goofball Haunted Kentucky website, no sources, no corroboration. Speaks to how stir crazy Dean’s been ever since…
Couple of days of locals looking at them like they’re the ones drinking the meth lab runoff and Dean’s ready to call it quits.
“Let’s give it the night.” Yawn. Stretch. “We head out in the morning we won’t have to sleep in the car.”
Narrow eyes, but “All right.” Dean ditches his Fed suit, grabs the keys. “Don’t wait up.”
**