Heeeeeeeeeeeeey! This is my first try at a SPN fic. I'll tell you all now that I don't know exactly where this story is going or what time place it takes in seeing as though I'm new to the SPN fandom. Only on Season two so I'm not sure I'll be able to include Castiel or all the others characters that show up post S2. But don't let that stop you all from reading. Hopefully I'll get honest to God opinions and feedback. In love with the Winchester Brothers since episode one. Don't know who I love more.

And excuse the 2012 pop culture references. I know that if this is set in a S2 world none of my references would have happened yet. But I'm a sucker for uses pop culture in my stories so I apologize for that. This just starts in an off kilter universe until further notice.

Thanks.

I Won't Let the Boogeyman Come

Chapter 1 – Cups n' Cakes

. . .

Snacks. That's what Angie Anderson was sent into the gas station to get. That's exactly what this long trip she was on needed. Lots and lots of snacks.

Snacks of all kind. Cavity encouraging sugary ones. Heart clogging greasy ones. Tongue numbing sour ones (Angie's personal favorite). Just stuff that makes someone wanna bounce off the walls and run around until they collapsed. Stuff that makes you wide awake until you crash into a deep, coma-like sleep. Angie was gonna get just that.

It was a fair trade. Trent was put on gas duty while Angie searched for tasty treats. And thank God for that too. Trent was terrible at picking out the snackums. You'd think that after knowing each other for so long he'd understand her taste buds. She wasn't that hard to figure out when it came to her food preferences. She loved Mexican food, sour candy, and citrus flavored soda (it was soda not pop. And sneakers not tennis shoes). And she hated anything chocolate or crème filled... and if you got her skittles she only ate the red and green ones... and you could never go wrong with anything by Entenmann's, Willy Wonka, and Coca-cola.

Bottom line: Get her some powdered donuts, a box of nerds, and a full throttle and she'd be cool.

See? She wasn't too hard to please at all.

"Pretzel combos," Angie sighed, inspecting the bag of pretzels before adding it to her armful of treats. Those were for Trent. He was a munchies kind of dude and liked dark tasting soda. Pepsi, Root Beer, Dr. Pepper.

Perusing snack after snack, Angie figured she had all she needed once both her arms were preoccupied with keeping them steady. Time to give 'em to the cashier, pay for 'em, and endure another three hours on the road until her and Trent reached their destination.

Things didn't go according to plan.

As soon as Angie glanced up, she caught an eyeful. And by eyeful, she meant a cute tall guy also looking around for goodies. When did he come in here and how did she not notice him? Was she really that deep in thought where she didn't hear the gas station door swing open? Or hear his footsteps? Or the sound of bags rustling beneath his fingers? Or just frickin' feel his presence? Her skills were slipping.

Rule #1 - Always be aware of your surroundings.

Every hunter followed their own rulebook. And just like how each hunter's journal was completely unique, each hunter's rules and the order in which they followed them were just as individualized. Angie learned at a young age to keep track of everything. Be on top of your game and notice the little things because they come in handy. Trent's first rule, expect the unexpected, complimented Angie's. While Angie was inspecting and surveying the premises, Trent was ready to handle anything that was out of the norm.

Never mind not noticing the tall stranger immediately, she was just happy she got to do so sooner rather than later simply because he was delicious eye candy. Better than any of the candy in this place, hands down. Sadly, he wasn't for sale like the rest of the edible heart attacks stacked up in perfect precision on the racks. God only knows how many girls would be lining up to buy him if he were.

But there wasn't any harm in just looking right? Looking and dreaming were perfectly fine.

Knowing she'd never see the unknown man again, Angie wasn't gonna just oogle at a distance. No, that was too conspicuous for her tastes and she'd definitely get caught doing that. She was gonna play this one cool.

Well, as cool as she could. What Angie considered playing it cool was actually more or less lukewarm. But that wasn't her fault. If she were out hunting, or playing FBI, or any kind of character, she could do it hands down. It was just when she was being herself that things got a little tricky.

Sliding into the same aisle he was in, Angie scooted over to about a few feet away from where he stood. She pretended to be inspecting a box of Milk Duds when really she was inspecting the fine specimen picking up a box of Peanut M&M's. Gross. That candy was shit.

He had to have been roughly just above 6'3''. Which kind of made Angie, who was tall for her gender, feel dwarfed. She wished she could've seen what he was workin' with beneath all those layers of clothes, but it's hard to tell just how muscular someone was when they insisted on wearing too many damn articles of clothing. It was hotter than the Devil's ball sack out here in South Carolina. He needed to take off a just a few things. And it wasn't because she was being pervy, it was because he was making her hot.

That sounded worse than what it meant. It was that since it was so hot, and he was wearing so many clothes, that the heat radiating off him made her hot...

Anyway.

His eyes were an odd color. She didn't know what to make of them. They looked hazel, but only around his pupil. The outer edges were either a storm blue or a dull green. She couldn't tell. But his chocolate colored hair, that looked as if he missed a few scheduled haircuts, flowed down his face and caressed his dimpled cheeks.

He was really cute. Boyishly so. Reminded Angie of one of those misunderstood artists that no one really knew anything about, but all the girls flocked to him to try and get him to open up and reveal the depths that lurked within him. A tortured soul who knew more about the world than he wanted. He'd brood and pout and wander about town aimlessly deep in thought.

For a quick second, Angie humored herself and imagined being the girl who could open him up. Telling him that while brooding was fun n' all, stepping out of the darkness and into the light was great too. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Because she was a hunter, and getting close to anyone beside your partner in crime a choice few other hunters was out of the option. Misunderstood Artist would pay for his treats, get in his car, and go on to live a normal happy life. And Angie would see to it that all the monsters that tried to prevent that normal life from happening were out of the picture. The two could never mesh.

But a girl could dream.

"Hi," Misunderstood Artist spoke. And for a second, Angie thought he was talking to someone other than her. But with the exception of the cashier, who was busy filing her nails, Angie was the only other patron inside the place.

She sucked in a quick breath and smiled. "Hey."

He gave a half smile of his own before his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes did a weird squinty thing. Angie didn't know if he was in deep thought or if she said something to offend him. Maybe he wasn't a "Hey" kind of guy. Maybe he was one of those hay-is-for-horses d-bags. Hopefully not.

"Can I ask you something 'cause I am seriously in need of a second opinion?" He ran a hand through his sweet sweet hair that made Angie want to curl up in it and take a nap before giving her a another smile. This one far more weary than the first.

He could've asked her anything he wanted in the world. What she thought about global warming, a wedding proposal, how she felt about LeBron going to Miami, a wedding proposal, what came first the chicken or the egg, a wedding proposal... Anything he wanted.

Quickly and unexpectedly (where was Trent when you needed him) he held up his hands, revealing two different candy boxes in each of them. "Mike n' Ikes or Sour Patch Kids!" he said with exuberance, stern face contrasting against his animated voice.

Angie couldn't contain the laugh that went spilling from her lips. She was beginning to think that Misunderstood Artist wasn't as misunderstood as what she pegged him to be. He was dorky and funny and lighthearted.

Everything she was.

Everything she didn't want him to be.

He was supposed to be an ass. That way she could leave without thinking how things would've turned out between them had the circumstances been different. He was making it really hard for her to leave. Trent was gonna be pisssssed.

"I say both," Angie answered post chuckle. "But if you're the type who doesn't like to indulge, go with the Sour Patch Kids. Besides, Mike n Ike broke up anyway. Ike can do so much better."

Lighthearted Dork, formerly known as Misunderstood Artist, followed her original advice and chose both. "Yeah, I heard. It's a shame. Years of making damn good candy down the drain."

"Peanut M&Ms, S.P. Kids, Mike n Ikes, you seem to be a one note junk food shopper."

"The M&Ms are for my brother. He can't get enough of those." He looked down at his three lonely boxes. "But I guess you're right. I do need more variety. What do you suggest?"

Angie knew what he was trying to do; she wasn't that blind when it came to the opposite sex. He wanted to buy more time with her. Which meant he wanted to talk to her more. Which meant he had to have liked her. Which made all of this the more heartbreaking.

But instead of declining to help pick out candy, Angie caved and decided humor both himself and her. "You called on the right person because I'm the woman for the job."

"Must be my lucky day."

It took everything within Angie to not give in and swoon. "Right. So. You've got vegetables and fruit taken care of with the M&Ms and Mike n Ikes. We need to balance out your diet."

"Wait... how are M&Ms a vegetable?"

"Peanuts are in the vegetable family. You gotta keep up with me..." she trailed off, waiting for him to give a name.

"Sam. Sam Adams. No relation to the founding father or his beer."

"Carmen Carrera." Yeah, Angie felt terrible not giving her true name. But that was just a reminder to not get too attached. "Anyway. Now we need calcium. Follow me." She turned, heading towards the the dairy products. Stopping dead in her tracks, she glanced at Sam. "Chocolate milk is the way to go."

He gave an appreciative nod before grabbing him a gallon of the chocolaty good stuff. "What's next?"

"Grain. You've gotta have grain in any healthy diet. It's a must. So what better way to get your grain than with..."

Reading her mind exactly, Sam headed over to what she was going to say and grabbed a box. "Oatmeal Cream Pies."

"You also get oils and fats because of the cream. That's killing two birds with one stone."

"And saving money." Sam finished trying to balance all his junk.

Sucking in a breath, Angie moved over to the cash register. She placed all her goodies on the counter before picking up a beef jerky. "Last but not least, protein. If you want to be big and strong, you need protein and Mr. Slim Jim gives you just that."

Sam laughed. It was soft and sweet and smooth. Like honey trickling down a hot spoon. The more he did it, the more Angie wanted to find something to keep it continuing. "Thanks, Carmen. I wouldn't have been able to pick out such healthy food without you."

"That'll be $15.50," the cashier said boredly, voice pulling Angie back to reality. She wasn't named Carmen, she couldn't flirt and chit chat with hot boys, and she wasn't supposed to still be in the God damn gas station. She was Angie Anderson, who hadn't been on a date in Lord knows how long, and was on her way to Duke University to snoop around dorms and see if there was anything supernatural going on around the campus. In fact, her staying here, tormenting herself with the idea that she was normal was hurting more than it was helping. And in a few minutes, this would all be over. Just another thing for Angie to reminisce about as she tried to go to sleep on a hard, dingy, motel mattress.

"Here, I've got it." Sam said, placing his items on the counter and taking out his wallet. He pulled out a twenty, the bill weathered and worn with time and that lead Angie to believe that he wasn't strapped with cash. Rich men always had the crisp bills that still contained that new money smell. So there was no way she was taking this struggling guy's money. He was probably still in college living off ramen and canned ravioli. That, and she didn't want to accept his money anyhow.

"It's okay. I can pay for it." She waved him off, pulling her own twenty dollar bill out.

But still, Sam insisted. "It's the least I can do for all your help. I mean, you basically made breakfast, lunch and dinner for me. That and your pajama pants are awesome."

Angie almost forgot she was wearing her South Park pajama bottoms. Who the hell wore jeans on long car trips? That was just bothersome. And they were built for comfort and speed so if she had to chase down a vampire or shifter she'd be fine. In any other case she would've been above and beyond embarrassed, but Sam made her feel okay with it. He was fine with her dressed like a bum and was a fan of South Park.

Was there anything wrong with this guy? Come on, there had to be something fucked up with him. Chivalrous, generous, sweet, handsome, cool hair, Angie tried finding a flaw with him. Maybe he had really bad breath. That couldn't be it 'cause his breath smelled like minty toothpaste. Or was a racist. That would really prevent him from liking Angie. But that couldn't be the case neither 'cause he was seemed perfectly fine with a girl's butterscotch complexion. Or... he had a girlfriend at home. Yeah, that was it! He had a girlfriend. A lovely, girlfriend who baked him cookies and held his hand in public and loved him unconditionally. No Angie's allowed.

"Really, there's no need-"

"Come on, let me feel as if I made your day." And that's when it happened. Sam laid on a smoldering pair of puppy dog eyes. Angie was not prepared for it in the slightest and Sam knew the power they had because his pouting lips kept trying to twitch into a smile. "It's really no trouble at all."

Angie couldn't say no.

"Okay," she sighed, letting that swoon she had been containing this whole time loose. Taking the bag from the cashier, watching as Sam paid for everything, she chewed on her bottom lip, eyes now glancing at the floor. "I guess this is where we split up."

There was a brief silence before Sam gave a slight bitter nod. "Yeah."

Angie would be lying if she had said that she wasn't surprised when Sam didn't ask her for her number. Maybe he wasn't as into her as he thought. Maybe she read all the signals incorrectly. Ugh. why was she frowning? This was supposed to alleviate things not make them worse. Now she didn't have to pretend as if she'd call him. Now she didn't have to pretend at all.

With a wave goodbye, Angie stepped out into the parking lot, walking into the thick, palpable heat of South Carolina. It was muggy and humid and reminded Angie of all the reasons why Summer was not her favorite season. And a car blasting what sounded like screaming vocals and heavy guitar reminded her why she hated rock music.

It was blasting hard enough for her to feel the pounding of the drums sink into her skin and ricochet off her heart. She searched the lot to see that it was coming from a jet black, muscle car. Angie couldn't really tell what type of car it was because she was nowhere near a vehicle enthusiast. And she couldn't make out the man in the car because he was too busy frantically air drumming to whatever song was playing. Whoever he was, she deemed it was Sam's brother since there was no other car parked in the desolate area.

Really, who could stand that type of music? It all sounded like a cacophony of noise. Listening to the static of a broken television was more soothing to her ears. And Angie considered herself a music lover. She listened to all types of genres ranging from Jazz to K-pop, she just never had the desire to listen to rock. It didn't do anything for her besides give her a headache.

"Angie!" she followed the familiar Southern voice to find Trent, sitting in the driver's seat, aggravatingly waving her over. Trent had to have been mad to be able to scream over that music. "Get yo black ass in the car so I don't have to listen to this crackerjack music no more." With that, the roar of the engine to their black Hummer resounded through the air as Trent turned on the car and their own music began to blare. The stereo system to their car was far superior to whatever car Sam's brother had and drowned his pathetic rock song all the way out. And as the Kanye West song blazed, lyrics of Lamborghini Mercys, flowing out of surround sound speakers, Angie saw the brother stop all his air drumming, looking around disgustedly before rolling up his windows to try and prevent anymore of their music from seeping in. She supposed her hatred of rock music rivaled this man's hatred of hip hop. But that didn't stop Angie from dancing her way to the passenger side of the car, noticing the brother was watching her every step of the way before she hopped in.

Trent drove off out of the lot and onto the long winding highway. Angie prepared herself for a ride filled with leg cramps and the occasional motion sickness. They were three hours away from North Carolina which meant they were three hours away before potentially beginning their newest case.

Angie left behind all thoughts of Sam along with that terrible music his brother enjoyed.

. . .

That was chapter one. And yeah, both Angie and Trent are black. Not enough OC's on this site who are sistahs and brothahs.

Not sure if I'm actually going to continue this. Or if you all want to read a story such as this. Let me know what you think if you do.