#Waylon’s kid found him like that while grabbing a drink of water

[kappa-bappa]

It gets a little interesting when uncle miles sleeps over

[nosferatyou]

If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 1 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: Rosalie and her band “By Elliston” move from Nashville to Detroit to continue their music careers and move away from their demons. Rosalie notices an unhappy face in the crowd of their first show, and is instantly drawn to him. While she doesn't mind that hes easy on the eyes she does mind his less than stellar attitude about their music. 

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Drug use, language, and mentions of abuse.

Notes: Well this has been brewing for A WHILE. I’ve been everywhere deciding on a plot, but after tedious planning this is finally a reality. I hope the 5 Jack White fans on here enjoy this. This will be a series so strap in folks. We got young jack. we got old jack. we got everything in between. (also series names are hard) Enjoy! Appreciate all the research i did!

Chapter Two

“Do you want another?” 

He holds his hand above me, his dark eyes burning holes into me, he pulls back more as if ready to strike again. As if on command, I recoil from the movement, feeling smaller than I ever had.

My head shoots up, suddenly back in Zoot’s coffee house. I blink a couple of times, trying to wake myself up. I couldn’t remember what she asked.

“What?” I asked her, phasing back into reality again, and not what was a horrific nightmare.

Sat next to me was my best friend and singer in our band was Harry, or Harriet if you want to be technical. Her head was held high, and she was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement, she seemed more than ready for our first show in a new town.

 She moved one of her two shots in front of me and asked again. 

“Are you deaf, Lee? I asked if you wanted another shot before we go on.” 

I quickly sat up and grabbed it off the makeshift bar, anything to shake off what I was feeling. 

We clinked our drinks together, and she yelled out a toast over the crowd of people behind us. 

“To fresh starts and new stomping grounds!” 

We clinked our drinks and quickly downed them, both of us coughing from our burning throats, but as soon as we saw our red faces, we burst out into laughter. 

“We are horrible at shots, aren’t we?” I said in between wheezes of laughter.

“We truly are.” She paused and grabbed the bottle. “One more for good luck!.”

It seems like this is the night, if any, to drink. 

We’d just gotten to Detroit. Like just got here a week ago and are already booking shows. We all decided to move her for reasons I won’t mention, but I’ll just say that we needed to switch up our scene a bit. 

Our band “By Elliston” had grown pretty big in the Nashville scene, we played pretty frequently at the Exit/In. Which is not the biggest venue in the world, but it means something for the Nashville scene. I mean, we technically shared a stage with Muddy Waters and BB King, so that’s at least something to brag about.

 We were known in the Nashville punk scene and had made some significant headway, but thanks to shitty people and our big egos, we decided to move to Detroit. Known for its great music and cars.

 And here we are at Zoot’s Coffee shop, which is arguably a coffee shop honestly. Off a dark street, that no person with money would venture down, and the outside seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s just a house on a street. But the inside. Its a home, its a coffee shop, and venue for anyone who has an instrument. 

Its packed wall to wall with people, barely any standing room, especially near the stage, which is just a raised corner of the living room. Its the perfect venue for any rock band. Small and loud.

We (being the band and me) all lived for music, and it is our life’s blood.

 I grew up in a very southern home and was always surrounded by music, thanks to my dad. Id never met a man who loves Johnny Cash more than him or country music for that matter. Cash would always play through the house, or Hank Williams, Waylon Jennings. That kind of thing. However, I can’t stand to listen to any of them now. Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always said.

 That did spark something in me. I started playing guitar, thanks to my dad… and then I picked up the bass and then drums. And so on and so on. The moral is that If you hand me any stringed instrument ill know how to play it.

The other girls. Jo, Harriet, and Ezra. All got into good music when they were in high school, which also when we all met. Thanks to the high school band or orchestra. I played violin, as did Jo and Harriet, Ezra played the stand-up bass and continues with the bass to this day.

 Now we’ve all moved on the from hot cross buns and into a world of rock and roll. We used to be terrible, covering a lot of Alice in Chains and Nirvana. 

Graduating class of ‘93 for all of us, and we lived in a world of grunge. Five years later and we’ve since moved on from our teenage ways. We’ve embraced the blues and everything around it. However, we get a bit heavier than our inspirations, with my heavy fuzz and Harriet’s raspy yelps. With the look of punk dads (a lot of fun button-ups, dark makeup, and Dr. Martens boot) and the sounds of 4 angry ladies, we tore up Nashville.

We played a lot of house shows, met many a band, lost many a group, met a dumb boy who won’t be named (its John), and had a lot of fun tearing up the Nashville scene. 

As we grew, we played bigger venues, the show of ‘96 at The End being the staple of our career. We’d never played as good as we did then, and none of us are convinced we’ll play as well as we did that night.

 Either way, we were thrust forward, and our movement grew, we were making money from our shows, plus we played bigger venues. The Exit/In and The East Room, to name a couple. Last month we felt we needed a change of scenery to grow. As incredible, the Nashville scene is, its also quite small. Few venues and fewer people. That’s the other girl’s excuse, at least. 

We scrounged up what we could, found an apartment here, and moved as soon as we could. Unlike the others, I had to burn some bridges to get here, but more will be made here. We scooped out the scene the moment we arrived and set up a show here, and we are all buzzing to perform again. 

“So, who are we opening for again?” I asked as we headed to our van to start and unload our gear. 

“The White somethings.” Jo absentmindedly answered, wrapping her jacket around herself for warmth.

Harriet quickly cut in, “The White Stripes, you mean.” Correcting her.

We all arrived at our shared van and started grabbing our mess of cables and cases.

Harriet continued, “I’ve been asking around all night about them, you know. To learn about the enemy and such.” 

Jo popped her head up from the front seat and asked, “When have you had the time to ask around? I was with you literally all night.” 

Harriet picked up her small load for the night and parked a seat on the car next to ours, lighting a cig while she sat.

“I have my ways.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows before taking a long drag.

“Anyways, here’s what I’ve learned. They’ve been around a year, the drummer learned when they got together, and guitarist leads the show.” She spoke with her ever-present dramatics, waving the cig around after every word. 

“They can’t be that good if the drummers new, and they’ve only been playing a year.” Said Ezra, who was effortlessly carrying what seemed to be the world’s most massive bass amp. 

“I don’t know, Z. It seems agreed that they know how to rock a room.” Harriet pipped up.

“What does it mean for us then?” Asked Jo who’s joint was lit and already in her mouth, and arms were full with various drums. Explains why she was digging around the front seat.

I quickly cut in, not about to let them get nervous over a baby band. “Absolutely nothing. We’ve got six years on them. These Detroit kids won’t know what hit them, we’re from music city for god’s sake.” 

“That’s the spirit, Lee!  Now get your asses inside so we can set up.” Harriet popped off the car and started walking towards the door, beckoning us towards her.

“Feel like helping us speed up the process, Harry?” Joked Jo.

“You’re big girls. I’m gonna go try and spot the enemy.” She yelled back to us.

“Oh, have fun, we will just be here carrying your band!” I yelled out.

“I knew I could count on you, darling!” She called out, throwing a wink and cigarette butt our way. 

When we had finally reached the stage, the already crowded room had doubled in bodies. While most bands would be shaking in their boots, it only spurred us on more. While we all have our fair share of disagreements, we have one thing in common. Our shared headspaces before a show. All ready to take on anything, and our confidence is unwavering. The bigger, the better. It’s honestly what’s kept us together this whole time. 

Now all eyes were on us, and it was a tough crowd, it was dead silent. The girls and I all exchanged a look and nodded. I always started us off. We had a set opener, it never changed and worked every time, but after that was a free for all. I usually took charge and just chose whatever I was feeling, but if not me, then Harriet. The other two just flowed with whatever we threw their way.

I always started first with the heavy riff, joined in by Ezra, then Jo, and finally Harriet. 

The riff is what pulled them in, and it was always quite the sight. I got fully into it every time. It was dark, straightforward, and full of fuzz and feedback. 

By the time Harriet joins in its mayhem, I speed up and play power chords. It’s not slow, but it’s not so fast that it’ll make your head spin. 

As the short show progressed, we felt like how we used to feel every night. Pure joy, which is what we all fucking needed. 

We improvised. I mashed up whatever songs I even threw in a little Stooges to thank the locals for letting us play. Though I did notice the gaze of one oddball in the back, who was just… watching.

 While that doesn’t sound weird, it was sure out of the ordinary. He sat in the back, arms crossed leaned against the wall. The whole mysterious boy schtick was down pact. He wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t seem happy. It was off-putting and kept my focus over towards that corner of the room, but didn’t hinder the performance. Maybe it fueled it. 

The show couldn’t have gone better, though. The crowd did not hide their whoops and hollers when we finished our last song of the set. I was already riding that performance high and will be for the rest of the night. 

“Thanks for a great first night, Detroit! We’re “By Elliston,” and we hope to see you next time!”

Screamed out Harriet for a final goodbye as we headed off the stage, their applause carrying us off the small stage. 

The moment we put down our instruments, we about took each other out, tacking one another to the ground.

 As tradition carries, after every show, we used to just aggressively group hug, but over time we’ve grown more and more… excited. At one of our last shows at The Exit/In, I accidentally knocked out Jo by slamming into her too hard. If that gives any frame of reference to what our dog piles look like now.

“Ladies. If every show goes somewhat like that here, I think we will rule this scene.” Ezra said from the bottom of the pile, her words garbled from the mass of bodies. 

“Alright, Lee, get your ass off the top, you’re gonna snuff me out down here.” 

Without much warning, she slid out from underneath us, and the rest of us went down to the ground, causing all of us to erupt in laughter. 

Once we all straightened ourselves out, we went to the van and had a celebratory cig, the first of many “celebratory” cigs of the night, 

To my right was Harriet leaning against the tail light, and Jo and Ezra were sitting in the van next to me. Harriet broke the silence.

“You know I missed this, Lee. I’m glad you’re back.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Har-” While talking I’d noticed three figures a few cars over walking to their own. My eyes widened in surprise. I grabbed Harriet’s arm suddenly and dragged her in with the rest of us.

“Shut up. It’s him.”

“What I wasn’t even talking-” she stopped and sat up to face, she wasn’t upset, but she sure looked confused. “Wait, who is “Him?” 

I looked around to check to see if he could hear. 

“I saw him when we were playing. He kept just… staring at me. It was weeeird.”

“Why’d you pull me in the car then??” 

“I panicked! It was just weird!” 

Ezra peaked her head out of the car in curiosity and asked. “Which one is it, the young blondie or the black-haired beauty?”

“Gah Jesus, not the child, Ezra! It’s the hot one.”

Harriet whipped her head out of the car to look at them, speaking a bit too loudly.

“Lee, you need to start off saying it was a HOT stranger! You have my interest now.”

“I’m going to kill both you. Get your dumbasses back in the car.”

We huddled back up, Harriet has a look in her eye that I don’t like.

“So, what’s the plan of action here, Lee?” Asked Harriet.

“Nothing. He’s a scowler. Sure a hot one at that, but if he can’t enjoy what we make, then what’s the point? When we played that stooges song, he looked like he was going to blow his top.”

“I think you’ve missed the point here, Lee. Point one,  You’re fresh out of a toxic sludge of a relationship. Point two, hot stranger. And finally. Point three, he’s a hot stranger in a band. I’m not passing up this opportunity.”

She gave us a wink, took a final drag of her cig, and hopped out of the car. She was going over to them.

“Harriet, you fucker don’t you dare,” I said with gritted teeth. “I’ve tackled you once today, and  I’ll do it again.”

She chuckled. “You’re all talk, kid. I’m off to make friends!”

“Bastard!” I yelled, leaping out of the car and towards her. I was too late, she just about ran over to them, and I was quickly in tow behind her. 

“Well, look at that, Lee! New people. Hi there, I'm Harriet, but you can call me Harry. and this is Rosalie.” She extended her hand towards the three strangers.

“Its Lee actually, she’s just an asshole.” 

All of them looked slightly taken aback. They were sure as hell wasn’t expecting her hand in their face, or two random ladies in their space. The newly named “hot stranger” was the first to speak up. He seemed rightly hesitant.

“I’m Jack, and this is my sister, Meg. This over here is my nephew, Ben. He’s our pinball wizard. Or Roadie in technical terms.” 

“Well, good to meet Y’all!” Once she shook ben’s hand, he spoke up. Man he was young. Was he maybe 16? Not over 18 is the point.

“You guys played a hell of a show. The Stooges? Blues? You’re going to give these two a run for their money.”

Jack shifted on his heels when ben mentioned this. Same face as before, and little less friendly than introductions.

“Well, its all that Tennessee blood in us. Now we arent from Memphis, but Nashville’s close enough, right?” Harriet winked at the kid. His cheeks flushed a deep red. 

Jack shifted his eyes back to me, but they wander somewhere else. 

I clear my throat, he snaps his head up and makes eye contact with me, a small smirk falls on his face. 

“Well, you all seem busy, so Harriet and I are going to go back over there. Have a good show.”

I grab her arm and try to drag her away casually.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She whisper yells to me. We find ourselves on the other side of our van, out of their sight.

“Lee, You have never been one to shy away from new people. Especially men. Remember us, fresh out of high school? You practically had a different man in your bed every night. That whole nervous persona is new. Go seduce a hot stranger!”

“Jesus, Harriet! Lower your goddamn voice! First off its Jack, And yes I know. Different times though. I’m not going to go over there in front of his sister and prepubescent nephew to try and get in his pants.”

“Aw, come on, Lee! It’d be fun! Plus, you need a fucking rebound, girl.”

“Okay, well, talk me into this when its not a family reunion.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Rosalie.”

We started to make our way back to the other girls.

“Alright, ladies, let’s go catch our headliner,” I said, opening the van doors. A plume of smoke rolled out of it the moment the doors opened. I grabbed the joint from Ezra, taking a hit before going inside. I handed it back to the faded bass player and headed back inside.

[the--blackdahlia]

The Day the Music Died Chapter 3

Title: The Day the Music Died Chapter 3

Summary:  In 1959, a plane crash tragically took the lives of three musicians and their pilot. But the mysterious circumstances send the Winchester brothers on an adventure. Now they have a mystery to solve…before one of them joins the other three.

Warnings: Maybe just language. I’m trying to write this like it would be aired on TV, so violence and all that is going to be as close as it is on TV

1959

The crowd was full of energy as the man on the stage played his heart out for them. The girls screamed and cried. He was smiling as he watched everyone in the crowd. Buddy Holly was the crowd's favorite, it was obvious. He didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky.

Buddy Holly, Waylon Jennings, Tommy Allsup, and Carl Bunch were rocking the crowd while the other acts relaxed around the building. Buddy couldn’t stop smiling as he played through the songs he had been singing for the past couple years. It wasn’t the Ed Sullivan show, but at least the production value wasn’t so high that he was sick with nerves. And he had promised that Valens kid a good time on the tour.

Out in the crowd, a young man sat at a table. He sipped on his beer and watched the crowd. He would glance up at the band performing. Buddy was good, and if the man in the crowd didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he sold his soul for fame and talent. But he hadn’t. He was just actually good. The man’s eyes drifted over to another man though. He was eating at a table with some other guys, instruments sitting around them.

His boss had given him orders to follow, and he as going to follow them. He just was going to do it with style.

Buddy and his band finished playing, taking their leave. His band mates headed for the bar. He took a moment to drink some water. He thought about trying to make a call to his dear Maria. It was quiet backstage and he could finally catch up with his thoughts. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes to relax for a bit.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holly?” A voice said. Buddy put his glasses back on and examined the person standing in front of him.

“Yes?” Buddy asked.

“My name is Corson. I’m a huge fan.” He said with a smile.

“Oh, thanks. If you don’t mind though, I am just about to make a call to my wife…” Buddy said. Instead, Corson set across from him.

“My boss sent me here. And boy I’m glad he did.” Corson laughed, seeing the confusion on Buddy’s face. “His name is Crowley. He’s a real hard ass, but he has deadlines to meet and his boss is breathing down his neck.”

“Are you a reporter or something?” Buddy asked. Corson smiled.

“Or something.” He said. “Now, Mr. Holly, I think you can help me out.” His eyes flashed black, making Buddy fall out of his chair in surprise.

“What are you?” Buddy asked. Corson stood up and laughed, towering over the musician as he laid on the floor.

“I’m just a working class stiff just trying to make it.” Corson laughed. He grabbed Buddy by his shirt and pulled him up. “And I think you’re going to help me out just fine. Too bad though. You won’t be able to see that pretty little thing’s face when she tells you that she’s pregnant.” Buddy’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, it is yours. I visited her before I came here. She’s just fine...for now.”

“Leave Maria out of this!” Buddy snapped, but Corson grabbed him by his neck.

“You just save those vocals. You’ll need them.”

“What. Are. You.” Buddy gasped. Corson laughed.

“See, where I come from, I’m just a simple grunt demon that does the dirty work of gathering souls. But here on earth, I’m Buddy Holly.” With that, a black smoke left Corson’s body and entered Buddy’s despite him trying to keep his mouth shut to keep anything out. The body of the other man fell down, groaning some. Buddy stood up and dusted his suit off, before heading to the bar to get something to drink.

****

Present

Dean pulled Baby into the parking lot of the Hilltop motel several hours later. They needed to set up a base camp, and Sam was so glad to be out of the car to stretch his long legs. Sam got out and stood by the car while Dean went to the office to get them a room. The sky was clear for now, but according to his phone, it was supposed to snow. Sam looked up then as Dean made his way to him.

“All the way on the end. In case any unwelcome visitors decide to show up in the dead of the night.” Dean said. Sam nodded and got back into the car. Dean drove down to the end and parked so they could unload the bags. They knew the drill like the back of their hand. Check the room, lay some salt, make some sigils, the whole nine yards. Only once that was done could the boys settle down. Dean flopped down on his bed, relaxing so his back could find some relief, while Sam went to the yellowed Formica table and set up his laptop.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, looking over at his brother.

“Trying to get a little more information before we start doing any kind of investigating out there.” Sam explained.

“Well wake me when you figure something out. I need my four hours.” Dean grumbled, turning over onto his stomach and falling asleep. Sam looked over at his brother before turning his attention back to the screen.

He was finding the same things that he had told Dean in the car. A ghost that had haunted the town for years, mainly just doing little things to annoy people. Up until the past couple weeks, when three people had lost their lives due to things associated to the ghost. One woman had fallen down some stairs, another had been impaled by the ghost throwing something, and a third man had been crushed to death by a falling bookcase. So far, no connections. They didn’t live in the same house, let alone the same neighborhood. They didn’t have the same last name. They weren’t the same age. To Sam, there was no visible connection. And most of the time, ghosts usually had some sort of pattern.

“Guess we’ll just have to talk to their families and see what we can uncover.” Sam said aloud, even though he knew that Dean wasn’t listening. He looked over at Dean, who really needed the sleep. He decided then that he could handle the interviews himself. He dressed himself in his FBI suit and grabbed his ID for Agent Jennings. He left a note for Dean, telling him he would call if anything major came up, and headed out to start the interviews.

He went to the boyfriend of the first girl. Her name was Zoey.

“I don’t know what happened.” Her boyfriend, Craig, told Sam as he set across the table from him. “We were carrying boxes. And she just slipped right in front of her parents and me. And she fell down the stairs.”

“Did anything strange happen leading up this? Was there anything weird in the house?”

“I mean, it was cold. But it’s winter time. I expected it to be.” Craig told Sam. “Everything was great. We had went to the museum up off of 4th…”

“What museum?” Sam asked.

“Um, that one that talks about those musicians who died in the plane crash.” Craig said. “Why is that important?”

“I just have to cover all the details.” Sam explained, writing down the information.

The interview with the second girl’s mother went the same way. And surprisingly, she had taken her niece and nephew to the museum right before she had been stabbed. And the third victim, Jackson, had also been to the museum, his brother informed Sam. Sam pulled out his phone and called Dean while heading back to the car.

“You ditched me Sam.” Dean yawned when he answered.

“I left a note.” Sam defended. Dean looked around and finally found the note, thinking that Sam had run off.

“I knew that.” Dean said. “So, what did you find out?”

“The only connection between the three is that they visited the Museum of History.” Sam explained. “Should be worth checking out.”

“It’s going to be a lot of classical music and Civil War stuff, isn’t it?” Dean asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Sam asked. “We can scope it out during the day time, or go do some after hours exploring.”

“Where’s the fun going during visiting hours?” Dean asked with a laugh. “Just get back here. Oh, and get some food on the way.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam hung up and went to go get some food from a place close to their motel. A salad for himself,with chicken and light dressing, and a burger and fries for Dean. He didn’t even forget the pie this time. He even got himself a slice, because it actually looked really good. He headed back to the motel where Dean was waiting with the laptop and some beer.

“Mmm, and you even got the pie. Good job Sammy.” Dean laughed. Sam rolled his eyes and set down with his salad and the smoothie he had snagged for himself, since he really wasn’t in a beer mood. He took the laptop from Dean, surprised to see that he was already on the museum website.

“I can’t find anything man.” Dean said. “I looked it over.”

“Well, sometimes the best way to get results is by doing.” Sam pointed out. Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. They researched all night, until the museum was to close. They packed up the gear they needed and headed out. It was just a local little thing. Nothing big.

“So, we go in and shoot Casper?” Dean asked.

“Or try to figure out if the ghost is even here.” Sam pointed out. Shotguns full of rocksalt in hand, the boys headed to the building. The lock wasn’t hard, and from the looks of it, there wasn’t much in security. The building was dark, minus a few emergency lights. But the flashlights they had cut through the darkness with ease.

“This place would be cool to visit.” Dean laughed.

“Yeah. It’s pretty interesting.” Sam said. He leaned forward to read a plaque with information when he could see his breath. “Uh, Dean?”

“What?” Dean asked. Before Sam could say anything though, an old style jukebox in the corner flickered to life and the guitar into to La Bamba started. “What the hell?” Sam turned around, his flashlight slicing through the darkness, until it came upon a third body standing there, beat to hell.

“Shit!” Sam gasped. Dean went to his side quickly and shown his light at the other person.

“Is that...is that who I think that is?” Dean asked. Sam nodded.

“That’s Ritchie Valens.”

Forever Tags: @imboredsueme @aiaranradnay @theas-bedtime-stories @af112992 @dekahg @cutie1365 @marvel-af @bandobsession98 @nanie5 @sammat97 @dslocum89 @wilford-motherluvin-warfstache @xxwarhawk @luciathewinchestergirl @tina8009

Supernatural Tags: @essie1876 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @sabigmart @smoothdogsgirl @jadepc @winchestergeekfreak @winchesterslibrary @atc74 @anathewierdo

The Day the Music Died Tags: @leximus98

[the--blackdahlia]

The Day the Music Died Chapter 4

Title: The Day the Music Died Chapter 4

Summary: In 1959, a plane crash tragically took the lives of three musicians and their pilot. But the mysterious circumstances send the Winchester brothers on an adventure. Now they have a mystery to solve…before one of them joins the other three.

Warnings:Not much that I can think of

1949

JP Richardson drove his father's brand new Chevy truck down the dusty roads outside of Sabine Pass. It was pitch black outside and he had not passed anyone in miles. It had been two years since he had graduated high school, and all the glitz and glamour that he thought was coming his way hadn’t even shown up. He was working part time at the radio station, but there was no sign that he was going any farther than that. Nothing was turning out the way he wanted it.

He had heard from a friend, who had heard from a friend, about Robert Johnson. While he didn’t believe that he could actually sell his soul for talent, part of him had been itching to try it since his friend put the idea in his head. He had found a dirty old book when him and his friend had broken into the “witches land” once. It talked about selling your soul and the ingredients you needed. While he had some of them, the other he didn’t know where to find.

“I know this isn’t real.” JP said to himself as he parked the truck on the side of the road at the crossroads. “This isn’t real. Nothing is going to happen.” But he still got out of the truck with his coffee can containing the items he needed.. He buried it right in the middle of the crossroads and waiting, but nothing happened. “Knew it.” He turned to leave, but almost ran into a man.

“Hello JP.” The man said. JP stood there, confused.

“Who are you?” He asked. “How do you know me?”

“I know a lot about you.” He laughed. “As for who I am? My name is Crowley.”

“Uh huh.” JP said, staring at him. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, you tell me. You called me.” He smiled, his eyes glowing red. JP gasped and stepped back. “Now, now, now. Don’t tell me you’re upset I’m not some pretty woman in a tight dress. I mean, I could put on a dress. It just won’t be as flattering.”

“I should go.” JP said, turning to leave. Crowley spoke up then.

“I can get you the head position at the radio station.” Crowley said. JP froze and turned to look at him. “I can make you rich. Talented. Anything you want.”

“Just like Robert Johnson?” JP asked. Crowley laughed some.

“He wasn’t one of my projects, but yes.” He said. “All you have to do is agree.”

“And what do you get from it?” JP asked.

“Sometime in the future, I will come for what I want. For now, I just want to sit back and watch you reap your rewards. That is all.” Crowley said innocently. “Come on JP. It could be all that you ever wanted.”

“Okay.” JP said after a couple moments. “What’s the worse that can happen?”

“That’s the spirit.” Crowley took a step towards him.

“So, how do we do this? Do I need to sign something? Shake hands?” JP asked. Crowley smirked.

“Not quite. I seal my deals in a different way.” Crowley got closer to JP.

“Oh. Oh!” JP closed his eyes and pretended he was kissing Betty Hart from his math class. As soon as it was over, Crowley was gone, leaving JP standing in the middle of the crossroads. Only the crickets and the stars knew what he had done.

But the next morning, he was offered a full time position at KTRM.

****

Present

“There’s no way.” Dean said. “The only celebrity ghosts we ever fight are serial killers. There’s no way that this is really Ritchie Valens.” The ghost in front of him flickered, like it was mad at the words Dean had just uttered.

“I think you’re pissing him off.” Sam warned. Dean looked at the ghost.

“Can you understand me?” Dean asked.

“Of course I can.” The ghost said. “Now, the question is, can you understand me.” Dean turned back to look at Sam before looking at the ghost. “And yes, I am Ritchie Valens.”

“Were you the one who killed those people?” Sam asked. Ritchie turned away from the Winchester’s then, closing his eyes. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean to.” He said.

“Yeah, they all say that. But you still killed three people.” Dean pointed out. Which didn’t help the situation much, because Ritchie threw a whole stack of pamphlets across the room.

“It was an accident!” Ritchie yelled. “I just want someone to help me!”

“Help? Help with what?” Sam asked.

“I’ve never been able to leave Clear Lake.” Ritchie explained. “I know I’m dead. I know what happened to me and the other two. And I’ve been wanting to move on. I just want to see Donna again.”

“Why can’t you?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know!” Ritchie was upset and the temperature had dropped in the museum. “I just want to go home!”

“Just relax.” Sam said, trying to calm the upset musician. “You said you needed help.”

“I tried to communicate to people. To talk to them. But it’s like I’m speaking Spanish to them. Or I am talking but they can’t hear what I’m saying. And I just get so angry! I never meant to hurt anyone!”

“We’re going to try to help you, okay?” Dean said. He looked at Sam. “Is there anything that could be tying him here?”

“He died here, Dean.” Sam said. “And you call yourself a music buff.”

“Well, I am so sorry.” Dean rolled his eyes. Dean looked back at Ritchie. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Ritchie tried to respond, but, no sound came out. Then he disappeared in a flash. Sam and Dean looked at each other. “Must have drained his batteries or something.”

“Let’s look around here. See if anything of his could be tying him down.” Sam said. The boys split up, walking around the museum. They let their flashlights slice through the dark. Nothing seemed to jump out at them.

“Dean.” Sam said a little bit later. Dean made his way over to Sam, where he had his flashlight pointed at a glass case. Dean turned to look, seeing a guitar behind the glass. “Think this could be it.”

“Yeah, should be.” Dean reached into the bag he had and grabbed a crowbar. He slammed into into the glass case. Sam reached in to get the guitar. Ritchie appeared then, his eyes wide. He was waving frantically, making Dean look at him. “Relax. We got this. You’ll be with Donna soon.” But Ritchie was still obviously upset. And that’s when a crash behind Dean turned his attention back to Sam, who wasn’t there.

“Sammy?” Dean asked. He saw the guitar laying on the ground, crushed to pieces from the impact with the concrete floor. Dean turned around in a circle. “Sam!”

“He got him.” Ritchie finally said. “He was right here. He got him.”

“Who? Who got him?” Dean asked. Ritchie flickered, obviously distraught. “Ritchie!”

“The demon who killed me.” Ritchie explained. “He killed Buddy and he killed JP and me.” Dean just stared at the ghost. And then he disappeared, leaving Dean with no answers.

And no brother.

****

Sam laid on the cold ground, groaning in pain as he came to. His head was pounding. He opened his eyes, blinking. He had expected to see Dean towering over him, worry on his face. But he didn’t see his brother anywhere. In fact, there wasn’t even a ceiling over him. Sam pushed himself to his feet and looked around. This sure didn’t look like Iowa, or at least the part he had been in.

“What the hell?” Sam asked himself, looking around. He spied a building in the distance. There were a couple old cars sitting out in front of it, shining brightly in the sun. He could see some kids running around while their parents watched. He thought it was a car show, but why were the women that were there wearing dresses that looked like they had came straight out of Grease?

He made his way towards the building, his head spinning a little. A couple of the women that were sitting on benches watching their kids stopped their chatting when they saw him. He was a sight to be seen. Long, shaggy hair. Dusty clothes. He looked like he had just gotten off his motorcycle or something. He made his way to the building, surprised to see it was a visitors center. A water fountain was the first thing he went to, gulping down mouthfuls of water.

Once his mouth didn’t feel like it had a mound of dirt in it, Sam made his way over to the visitors center. There were plenty of brochures on things to do…in Lubbock, Texas?

“What the hell?” Sam mumbled again, grabbing one of the brochures and reading it. The font and everything screamed 1950’s. “Oh god, I time travelled, didn’t I?” He groaned and rubbed his head. That’s when the sound of a short burst from a police siren reached his ears and Sam knew he had even more trouble.

“Do you realize that this is a public park?” The cop asked, walking up to Sam. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Uh, no?” Sam asked. The cop squinted at him.

“Son, just how drunk are you?” He asked. Sam was about to argue, saying he wasn’t drunk, when another man came up and place a hand on his arm.

“Thank you officer. This is my cousin and he gets confused sometimes.” The man said. The cop rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. Just keep a better eye on him Jennings. I would hate to put him in the drunk tank.” With that, the cop turned and left. He really didn’t feel like doing his job today. He just wanted to relax.

“Thank god. That man is an asshole.” The other man laughed.

“Thank you?” Sam said, a little unsure.

“Don’t mention it. I know how it feels to drink so much that you don’t know where you are.” He laughed. “I’m Waylon by the way. Waylon Jennings.” He offered his hand for Sam to shake it. Sam stared for a second before shaking his hand.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam said. He knew that this wasn’t his time. Just that feeling in his gut. So he didn’t feel as worried about using his real name. Plus, it’s a little hard to think of something when the man you just used for a fake ID was standing right in front of you.

“Where are you from Sam?” Waylon asked. “Judging by the hair and clothes, I would say it’s not Texas.” He scanned him up and down. “You’re one of them beachheads from California, aren’t you?”

“Guilty.” Sam said. Waylon laughed.

“What brings you to Texas?” He asked. They started walking, heading towards where Waylon’s car was parked. Sam didn’t know why he was going with him. Every hunter instinct was telling him to hide in the shadows. But this was Waylon Jennings. He had grown up to his music playing on a radio in Bobby’s kitchen while he helped him make chili.

“I’m really not sure.” Sam said. “Guess I’ll just be passing through.” Waylon looked Sam up and down.

“You look like a drifter that has watched one too many John Wayne movies.” Waylon said with a laugh. He opened up his car door and took out a flask. He took a quick swig of it. “Want some of this? Might help if you got a hangover. My brothers always said a little hair of the dog never hurt anyone.” Sam took it and sipped. It tasted a little watered down. Waylon seemed satisfied though when Sam handed him the flask back. “You hold your liquor well.”

“Thanks?” Sam asked. Waylon motioned to his car.

“Need a ride somewhere? I can take you into town and you can see about getting yourself something to eat.”

“I…” Sam paused when he glanced in the car. Carved into a piece of the wood grain inside the car was something that Sam recognized after a second. One of the sigils of Solomon. Sam turned to look at Waylon, his eyes wide. “That flask was silver wasn’t it.”

“Yeah. So?” He asked.

“And there was holy water in the whiskey.” Sam added. Waylon stayed silent this time. “Oh my god, you’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

“I mean I-I hunt deer and stuff occasionally.” Waylon said. Sam shook his head.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Sam told him. Waylon sighed.

“Well, I know you’re not a monster.” Waylon said. “So you’re a hunter Sam?”

“And a member of the Men of Letters.” Sam added. Waylon rolled his eyes.

“Stuck up bunch if you ask me.” He said. “I met this one few years ago named Henry or something. He was down here on some sort of mission. He needed help pulling that stick out of his ass.”

“Henry Winchester?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Waylon motioned for Sam to get in the car.

“That’s my grandfather.” Sam said without thinking. Waylon froze.

“He’s only in his thirties.” He said. Sam was mentally kicking himself. Waylon stared at him. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“Uh…” Sam couldn’t remember. Whatever had happened to him back at the museum had taken away from of his short term memory. Everything felt fuzzy. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a concussion. Sam’s phone fell from his pocket then. Waylon picked it up.

“What the hell is this?” Waylon asked, flipping the device in his hand. “Is it like a CB or something?” Sam reached out to grab it, but Waylon hit the home button, lighting up the screen. “No service found...well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I’ve read about this. I just didn’t know it was actually able to happen.”

“What?” Sam asked again, more than a little confused.

“Time travel.” He said. “I’ve read hunting journals. They talk about people ripped from their timelines, misplaced into others with no way of returning home. I just didn’t know it was real until I met you.” Sam was surprised that he was taking this all so well. Maybe it was just because he was off his game, or maybe he had been knocked out by whatever that was that attacked him when he grabbed Ritchie’s guitar. “You’re going to have to blend in while you stay here, ya know?”

“Um, yeah I kind of figured. But I doubt I’ll be here for long.” Sam said. “By the way, where is here?”

“Welcome to Lubbock, Texas. 1958.”

“1958?” Sam asked. Waylon nodded. “God, Dean is going to love this when I get back.”

“Remember what I said Sam? I’ve never read of anyone returning home. As far as I know, there’s no way to.” Sam stayed silent. “But don’t you worry. I have the perfect person for you to meet. He and his wife will help you blend in. Promise.”

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