Life in the Fast Lane

I Was Shot By The Sheriff (But Not The Deputy)

Quick Author's Note (Please Read for Context and Warnings):

Hiya! I'm Daisy, nice to meet you. So... this is my first fanfiction and honestly, I am super excited to see if anyone reads it! Just some notes before I start this story; First off, this story is rated T for Teen (13+) because of slight language, a little bit of implied themes (alcohol, drugs, sex, but not horribly), and violence (of course, it's Supernatural). I wouldn't think that there are any kids on this site but you never know, so I've rated it to what I think is appropriate and the reader must read at their own risk. Any familiar characters such as Sam and Dean belong to Kripke (damn you), not me, I take no credit for his characters and ideas, I simply write about them. Any errors such as misspellings, grammar mistakes, and et cetera belong to me, I'm my own editor and I try my hardest to fix everything I see, but I'm sorry if I miss anything. Also, this story is meant to be possible in virtually any season at any time. Luckily, I'm completely caught up, waiting for the newest season, but I don't mention any past events in this story, saving the innocents from spoilers, and only imply feelings from past events that only some people may understand, (that may make no sense now, but it will when you read it). Also, Portland, Maine is a real place, none of the things in this story actually happened there and there is no offence meant to the citizens of that town. So, hopefully, I covered everything and let's get this show on the road. (Both literally and metaphorically if you know what I mean.) Hope you enjoy! :)

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September 16th, 6:00 pm, Portland, Maine:

It was dusk, the night air growing cold, the stars' glow blearily peaking through the black veil of the night sky. A taxi cab driver smelling strongly of whiskey sloppily opened the cab's rear door for a lonely passenger and proceeded to shut the door, walk around the front of the vehicle, and hopped into the driver's seat. He placed his key in the ignition and started the car while asking with a slight slur, "So where ya goin' madam?"

At first receiving no reply, the man took the time to glance in his rearview mirror and observe his mysterious passenger. She had a short, slight build, virtually harmless, but something seemed off. Covered by a long maroon coat with a large hood shading her features, she was unidentifiable. She was muttering to herself, long unintelligible words that sent shivers down his spine and caused the hair on his arms and neck to stand on end. "Madam?" he asked again to which he also got no reply but the incessant ramble of nonsense from the woman.

He began to feel uneasy, not sure if he should be scared for the safety of the woman or for himself. He reached into his pocket, looking for his phone, wondering if he should call someone. Did she need help? Was she dangerous? He tried yet again, "Lady, ya alrigh' back there?" he asked uncertainly as he leaned toward the side of his seat and looked back at his passenger.

A sickly-pale, bony hand reached out from her long maroon coat, holding a twenty dollar bill and she muttered the only comprehensible word he had heard from her mouth, the only one he would ever hear again,"Drive."

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September 16th, 6:00 pm, Manchester, Vermont:

"Dean, if you drive any faster we're going to crash," Sam scolded through gritted teeth.

He knew that Dean meant well, Hell, if Dean was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, he would probably be breaking some speed limits too. But he was afraid that if the Impala went any faster, the gunshot wound wouldn't be what killed him. Speaking of the gunshot wound... Sam carefully lifted the thin fabric of his t-shirt sleeve up so that he could peer at the wound yet again. He prodded it with his fingers, hissing sharply. "For the love of God, Sam, don't touch that!" Dean replied to his brother's sharp intake of breath.