The Impala sped down the empty road, tires humming against the asphalt.
Inside the car, the tension hadn't faded.
Dean kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight.
Ben sat quietly for a moment, staring at the small cloth bag resting on the dashboard.
The ash inside shifted slightly every time the car hit a bump.
Something about it felt… wrong.
Ben finally broke the silence.
"You feel that?"
Dean didn't answer right away.
Then—
"Yeah."
Ben frowned.
"It's cold."
Dean nodded once.
"Too cold."
Ben picked up the bag carefully.
The fabric felt damp, almost like it had absorbed moisture from the air.
He loosened the string slightly and peeked inside.
A faint, dark mist curled upward from the ash.
Ben quickly tightened the bag again.
"Okay, that's definitely not normal."
Dean glanced at him.
"Holy ash shouldn't smoke."
Ben swallowed.
"So… what did we just steal?"
Before Dean could answer—
The radio suddenly turned on by itself.
Static exploded through the speakers.
KRRRRRRRSHHHHH
Both men jumped slightly.
Ben stared at the dashboard.
"You touch that?"
Dean shook his head slowly.
"Nope."
The static grew louder.
Then—
A voice pushed through the noise.
Distorted.
Weak.
But clear enough to understand.
"…Dean…"
Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
His expression hardened instantly.
Ben's eyes widened.
"Was that—?"
The voice came again.
Crackling through the speakers.
"…Dean… listen…"
Dean reached for the volume knob, turning it up.
The static fought against the voice.
But it kept coming.
Stronger now.
Familiar.
Ben whispered.
"That sounds like—"
Dean finished the sentence quietly.
"Sam."
Silence filled the car except for the broken transmission.
The voice struggled to form words.
"…not… holy…"
The signal cut out for a second.
Then returned in a burst of noise.
"…trap… you…"
Dean's eyes narrowed.
"Trap?"
Ben leaned closer to the radio.
"What trap?"
The voice became urgent.
Almost desperate.
"…the ash… is wrong…"
Dean immediately glanced at the bag on the dashboard.
Ben slowly moved his hand away from it.
The voice crackled one last time.
"…get rid of it… now…"
Then—
Silence.
The radio shut off.
Just like that.
Only the sound of the engine remained.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Ben stared at the bag.
Then at Dean.
"Well…"
He swallowed.
"…that can't be good."
Dean didn't respond.
His eyes were locked on the road ahead.
Thinking fast.
Calculating.
Finally, he spoke.
"Open the window."
Ben blinked.
"What?"
Dean's voice was firm.
"Open. The window."
Ben quickly rolled it down.
Cold air rushed into the car.
Dean reached over, grabbed the bag of ash—
And threw it out onto the road.
The bag disappeared into the darkness behind them.
Ben turned to look through the rear window.
The bag hit the asphalt.
Split open.
And the ash exploded outward in a black cloud.
For a split second—
Shapes moved inside the cloud.
Twisting.
Reaching.
Trying to form.
Then the Impala sped too far away to see anything else.
Ben slowly turned back toward the front.
His face was pale.
"…Okay."
He took a breath.
"…I officially hate magic ash."
Dean exhaled slowly.
"Yeah."
Ben looked at him.
"So if that wasn't the holy ash…"
Dean kept driving.
His expression was grim.
"…then we just walked into someone else's plan."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
And far behind them—
On the empty road—
The black ash slowly gathered itself again.
Like something waking up.
And this time…
It was following them.