Supernatural Page #4

DEAN:

I love the Smurfs.

SAM:

Jess, hey, sorry to wake you. This

is... this is Dean.

JESSICA:

Your brother Dean?

11.

DEAN:

I gotta tell you, you are

completely out of Sam’s league.

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean’s regularly like this with women.

Jessica can’t help but blush a little.

JESSICA:

That’s what I’m always saying.

(then)

Just let me put something on-

DEAN:

No, I wouldn’t dream of it.

Besides, I gotta chat with your

boyfriend in private.

JESSICA:

Oh. Alright.

SAM:

No, whatever you wanna say, you can

say it in front of her.

DEAN:

Um. Okay. Dad hasn’t been home in

a week.

JESSICA:

Oh my God.

SAM:

So he’s working overtime on a

Miller Time shift. He’ll stumble

back sooner or later.

DEAN:

Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he

hasn’t been home in a week.

SAM:

(after a long beat)

Jess. Excuse us. We’re gonna go

talk outside.

EXT. SAM’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

In Sam’s lighted, ground floor BEDROOM WINDOW. Jessica peeksout from behind curtains. Curious and concerned. But then

she recedes back-- she doesn’t want to pry...

Sam and Dean walk to Dean’s curb-parked car. A 1965 CHEVY

IMPALA. Black, dented, a Rottweiler of a muscle car.

12.

Kansas plates. Dean pops the trunk, and we catch a glimpse

inside-- like Sam’s suitcase, only much more so. Shotguns.

Crucifixes. Chainsaws. God knows what else.

Dean roots around, before coming up with a faded LEATHER

JOURNAL. Sam’s both surprised and displeased to see it.

SAM:

He left the book behind?

Dean nods, grim. We can tell-- this is a bad sign.

SAM:

So tell me everything.

EXT. STANFORD UNIVERSITY - MAIN QUAD - NIGHT

CLOSE ON THE JOURNAL. The book is jammed with dense writing,

yellowed obituaries. We see the FINAL entry-- a taped

newspaper article, from the SANGER HERALD:

CENTENNIAL HIGHWAY: 4th DRIVER DISAPPEARANCE

DEAN:

...it’s this stretch of two-lane

blacktop, just outside Sanger,

California... few hours from here,

actually. Anyway, these drivers.

They just vanish. No bodies, no

cars, nothing. It’s like

Interstate Bermuda Triangle.

Sam reads from the journal. As the two brothers walk through

Stanford’s main quad. Dark. Empty. Atmospheric stonearches, ornate libraries.

DEAN:

Dad went to check it out last

Monday, haven’t heard from him

since.

SAM:

Why didn’t you go with him?

DEAN:

I was working my own trip. This

voodoo thing, in New Orleans.

SAM:

Dad let you go on a hunting trip by

yourself?

DEAN:

I am 26, dude.

13.

SAM:

Not emotionally.

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