2006, IL Hghwy 116

"I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law!"

Dean's voice cracked on the last note, and Sam cringed. He glared at his brother, drumming on the steering wheel and barely looking at the road as he drove.

"Seriously, Dean?"

Dean grinned, still bobbing his head as Styx continued to wail through the speakers. "What's wrong, Sammy? It's a classic."

"We know the FBI is after us. Which is why we're on this back road with no actual destination in mind to begin with. Running from the Feds. And that's the song you choose?"

"Of course that's the song I choose! You gotta learn to live a little, Sammy. Would you prefer Jailhouse Rock?"

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No." He glared out the window at the cornfields speeding by. "Where are we going, anyway? This is pretty far into the middle of nowhere."

"Just cruising wherever the muse takes me. That was the plan, isn't it? If we don't have a plan, the FBI can't predict it and catch us? Unless you've found us another hunt."

"I have to have access to the internet or a newspaper for that," Sam grumbled, slumping down in the seat. "And I haven't seen either since the last town we passed that actually had a stoplight. I'm hungry."

"Don't worry, Sammy, there'll be a filling station…"

"For real food, Dean," Sam whined, as only a little brother could.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Vegetables and all the trimmings, huh? Don't worry, we'll find food soon."

"How do you know?"

"I have a sixth sense about these things."

"You do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too-Hey! Look at that." Dean pointed to a giant figure on the crest of the hill. It felt familiar, somehow. This whole road felt familiar, which was why he'd turned off on it to begin with. But he still couldn't place why it felt familiar.

"It's a giant man made out of hay," Sam stated in his most dead-pan tone. "There hasn't been a town for miles, Dean. When I said lose the FBI, I didn't mean get us lost, too."

"We're in the last place that agent will think to look for us, Sammy."

"Yeah, how do you know?"

Dean grinned. It was all coming back now. The corn, the black buggies he'd started passing on the road, the giant hay man. And now he finally remembered why that FBI Agent had seemed so familiar.

They'd met before.


Dean pushed down on the accelerator, and the Impala grumbled as she soared up the hill. "How do you feel about pie?"

"Real food, Dean."

"Yeah, there'll be some of that, too." Dean licked his lips in anticipation. The pie store was right off this road, not ten minutes away. "Hey!" Dean shouted, riding up on the tail of a fourteen-passenger van that lumbered down the road at 10 mph under the speed limit. They were going around a curve, a no passing zone. "Come on! Drive!"

Next to him, Sam snickered. "You wanted to drive in farm country. At least it's not a farmer's tractor going five miles an hour."

"Meh." Dean glowered at the road, riding the van's bumper until it pulled into Cedar Pines Discount Groceries. The Impala followed the van into the parking lot, and Sam perked up, staring.

"Hey, I think I remember this place. Dean…"

Men, women and children in black clothing that looked like it belonged to the previous century spilled out of the van and split off, climbing into separate buggies, hands full of Wal-Mart bags. The driver hopped out, clean-shaven and wearing a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the Gand Ole' Opry plastered across the front. He flashed the Impala's driver a grin, singing,

"Three miles of cars layin' on their horns, fallin' on deaf hears of corn, lined up behind me like a big parade-"

"Heinrich!" Dean bounced out of his seat, and instead of going to chew out the other driver, opened his arms wide. "Heinrich my man! Look at you! What, are you the Amish bus driver now?"

The other man's jaw dropped, but then a grin spread across his face. "Dean! Is that you? You're a rude driver!"

"Yeah, man." Dean wrapped Heinrich in a quick hug. "You are a slow driver!"

Heinrich shrugged. "My grandmother still doesn't trust anything that moves too fast, and she always sits right behind the driver's seat."

Dean threw back his head to laugh. "Ha! But look at you, wearing real clothes and everything! I thought your family didn't let you do that. What's with with the bus load?" Dean asked, jerking his thumb at the van.

"Well, buggies don't go very fast, and the closest Wal-Mart is a long drive. So they pay me to take them. Don't worry, I still have my truck back at home, and when I drive her…whoo-hoo! The farmers hate it."

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. "That's my man!"

Heinrich squinted at Sam, who had climbed out of the passenger seat. "Is that your little brother? I told you he would get bigger than you!"

"Hey, Heinrich." Sam held out his hand to shake. "I can't believe you remember us."

"Are you kidding? How could I forget? Do you guys have a place to stay? It's early enough, if I call my wife she can have enough dinner for you."

Dean nodded and nudged Sam with his elbow. "See, what did I tell you? All the trimmings. Yeah, Heinrich, we thought we'd crash in town for the night, after we pick up one of your Aunt's pies."

"Dean!" Sam spread his hands wide. "We can't stay here! The FBI know we know this area."

"Exactly. That FBI agent is smart. He knows we wouldn't be stupid enough to stay any place he's seen us before," Dean said.

Heinrich's eyebrows rose. "Are you in trouble again?"

"Yes," Sam said, at the same time Dean said "No." Sam glared at Dean, who shrugged. "No more than usual. I'll tell you about it over dinner. You won't believe who we met up with again…"