At night, a black Impala cut through a narrow two-lane road, thick woods pressing in on both sides.
Henry lay across the black back seat, staring up at the roof, listening to tires roll over uneven asphalt.
"You know, guys," he asked after a while, "do you ever think what happens if we die and go to heaven? Do we live in heaven forever? Like… forever forever?"
He'd always been curious about that kind of thing—even when he was watching the show.
"That's what you're thinking about?" Dean muttered. "Out here?"
Henry shifted his head against the seat. "We know hell's real. We've seen demons crawl out of it. So heaven has to be real too, right? So what is it? Do people just… sit on clouds for eternity?"
Dean snorted softly. "Pretty sure it's not harps and diapers."
"But it's got to be something," Henry pressed. "You fight your whole life, die, and then what? Infinite vacation package?"
He really didn't like the idea of just reliving your happiest memories on repeat. Even the best memory could get boring if you were stuck inside it forever.
He wondered about the poor souls already up there—if they were smiling through the same moments again and again, never moving forward.
Dean kept his eyes on the road, the dark trees sliding past on both sides.
"Don't worry," Dean said flatly. "To go to heaven, you've gotta die first."
The meaning was clear. Don't.
"Yeah," Henry muttered, shifting his weight. "I think I'd rather keep my ass right where it is."
Then suddenly a figure burst out of the woods.
A woman stumbled straight into the headlights, arms flailing, screaming for help.
"Dean!" Sam shouted.
Dean reacted instantly, slamming the brakes. The tires shrieked against the asphalt as the Impala fishtailed slightly before grinding to a stop inches from her.
In the back seat, the abrupt stop had a different outcome.
Henry, who hadn't braced at all, rolled clean off the seat and hit the floor with a heavy thud.
For a second, no one moved.
"You okay back there?" Sam asked, twisting around.
From the floor, a hand slowly rose into view and gave a weak thumbs-up.
Before Henry could say anything else, the woman rushed forward and slammed both palms against the windshield.
"Please! Someone's chasing me!"
Dean and Sam were out of the car in seconds.
"Ma'am, hey—calm down," Sam said, hands raised slightly. "You're okay. Just breathe."
"You've gotta help me," she gasped, tears streaking down her face. "Please, please."
"All right, all right," Dean said, steady but firm. "Start from the beginning. What happened?"
She struggled to pull herself together.
"I swerved," she said. "Something ran into the road and I lost control. We crashed. And when I came to…" Her voice cracked. "The car was wrecked. My husband was missing."
Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look.
"I went looking for him," she continued, "but that's when the man from the road—he started chasing me. He's—he—"
Dean studied her carefully. "Did he look like he lost a fight with a lawnmower?"
Her eyes widened. "How did you know that?"
"Lucky guess," Dean said lightly, though his grip on the shotgun tightened.
Sam stepped closer, gentler in tone. "Ma'am, what's your name?"
"Molly," she said shakily. "Molly McNamara."
Henry pushed the door open and stepped out, brushing dust off his jacket as he came around the side of the Impala.
He looked at Molly—
And froze.
"Whoa," he muttered, instinctively taking a step back.
For just a second, she wasn't standing there soaked in fear and dirt from the crash. What he saw was different. A faint, concentrated glow wrapped around her form, like a bright sphere of pale light barely contained within her shape.
"What the hell am I seeing?" Henry thought, rubbing his eyes hard.
He blinked.
The glow was gone.
Molly stood there exactly as before. Shaking. Human. Solid.
Henry frowned slightly.
Is this the effect of that Veilwalker thing working? Can I see her true form as a soul?
Because he knew. Molly wasn't alive. She was just a ghost, tied to this stretch of road, replaying the same night over and over. This was the case they had come to solve.
Sam exchanged a quick look with Dean before stepping closer to her.
"I think maybe you should come with us," Sam said gently. "We'll take you back into town."
Molly shook her head immediately. "I can't. I have to find David. He might've gone back to the car."
Sam kept his voice steady. "We should get you somewhere safe first. Then Dean and I will come back. We'll look for your husband."
"No," Molly insisted, panic creeping back in. "I'm not leaving here without him. Would you just take me back to my car, please?"
Sam hesitated only a second.
"Of course," he said. "Come on."
The Impala rolled to a stop near the tree line. The woods were thick, quiet, the air colder than it should've been.
They stepped out, Molly moving ahead of them without hesitation.
"It's right over there," she said, pushing through the brush.
They followed her deeper into the trees until she stopped abruptly.
The clearing was empty.
No wrecked car. No debris. No broken glass. Just untouched ground and an old tree standing tall and silent.
Molly's breathing quickened. "I don't understand. I'm sure this is where it was. We hit that tree right there." She pointed, her voice shaking. "This… this doesn't make any sense."
She moved a few steps away, scanning the ground frantically, now out of earshot.
Sam turned immediately to Dean, voice low. "Dean, we gotta get out of here. Greeley could show up at any second."
Dean exhaled slowly. "What are you gonna tell her?"
Sam hesitated. "The truth?"
"The truth—that she's a ghost and should go into the light," Henry said.
Sam shot him a look.
He wasn't wrong. Just too blunt.
"She might think we're insane," Dean said quietly. "Or she'll bolt."
*****
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