It had been awhile since Dean had actually had a legitimate case. It was so hard to stay in the bunker now. Dean reached for his favorite breakfast cereal on the shelf and began to pour it into a bowl. After grabbing the milk to go with it, he sat down at the little round table in the kitchen and opened his laptop to go over the little evidence that the Internet managed to provide him.

This time the case was in a small town in Oklahoma just off of Route 102. There had been a series of car crashes in the same particular area for the past month and a half and some of the citizens in the city had been acting out strangely. The latest article from the local news station reported another crash just the day before, but this crash and the one before it were different. In the last two "accidents" the drivers had survived. The crash that had occurred yesterday, involved a 19-year-old girl named Jane Hawthorne, who was driving home from out of town. Apparently there had been trace amounts of sulfur surrounding each crash sight. Dean shut his computer and finished up the last three bites of his breakfast before tossing the bowl and spoon in the sink and heading for his room.

He shoved a few more shirts into his duffel bag, as well as two more fake badges just in case he needed them. Then he flung the stuffed duffel over his shoulder and flipped the light off as he walked out of the door.

It had been three years since he had traded away the Impala for the beat up orange pick up but he still hadn't gotten used to the feel of the truck. Dean drove into the hospital parking lot dressed in his "professional" suit and parked the car close to the entrance. If he needed to make a quick getaway, he wouldn't have to go far. Dean sauntered into the building where, according to the news, the girl was recovering, and made his way over to where the receptionist's desk was situated.

After a quick, charming smile to the nurse seated behind the desk, his job officially began.

"Hello ma'am, I'm from the FBI. I've been assigned the case of Jane Hawthorne. Which room is she in?" The nurse smiled back.

"I didn't realize that a car crash was being investigated by the feds. She's in room 205, second floor." And with a flirtatious hair flip, the nurse gave the most brilliant smile she could muster. Dean smirked back.

"Thank you." And he began to make his way up the stairs to the second story.

Dean mouthed the room numbers to himself until he found room 205 near the end of the hallway. He turned the corner into the threshold of the small room and knocked on the door.

"What is it now?" An annoyed voice sounded from behind the curtain behind the huge hospital bed. A young girl rounded the baby blue curtain and glanced at Dean before shoving some of her belongings into a small duffel bag. She was average height, muscular and slender but not skinny, with hazel eyes, freckles, and Chestnut brown hair. Jane was pretty but it wasn't quite clear whether she knew it or not.

"You can answer a couple of my questions if you don't mind." Dean held up his badge for clarification. "I'm Agent Irvine of the FBI."

"Oh really? Agent Irvine huh. Can I see your badge please?" Jane looked skeptical as she held out her hand for the badge. Dean handed it over. She took the badge, glanced at it, and then flipped it closed.

"Bullshit." She stated.

"About what?" Dean asked testily.

"Your badge. All FBI badges have five numbers. Yours has six. So I call bullshit. You're not from the FBI so who are you, really?" She handed Dean his falsified badge and he snatched it from her grasp.

"Fine, I'm a reporter. I was assigned your story so if you could—."

"No I don't want any more questions. I'm done. I was t-boned 5 miles out of town, my car was totaled and I was in critical condition but I'm fine. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to catch a cab to my house. Have a nice day." With that, Jane zipped up her bag, threw both it and her purse over her shoulder, and limped out of the room. Dean shoved his badge back into his pocket. Then, with an eye-roll, he turned and followed Jane into the hallway.

"Look, you need a ride and I want my questions answered. I could give you a ride home in exchange for answering those questions." Jane kept walking.

"You haven't exactly given me a reason to trust you. You lied about who you were and I still don't believe you. Why should I get into a car with you?" They both entered the elevator and Jane pressed the button for the first floor. Dean nodded his head in acknowledgement of her point. Should he tell her the truth? Sam would have. He decided to half tell her.

"Because your right. I'm, not actually a reporter either," the door opened and they stepped out. Jane made her way over to the receptionist's desk and was signing herself out. Dean leaned up against the edge of the desk. "Hey." He gave a quick hello to the nurse. Jane let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. "But I can help you. There's a pattern with the crashes and yours is connected." Jane started to walk towards the door and after a quick smirk to the receptionist, Dean leapt up to follow Jane out the door. He stepped in front of her. "And I think I know what caused it." Jane glared at him and tried to side step him but Dean blocked her again. She looked up at him.

"Yet again, I ask why should I believe you? You have given me every reason to not trust you." She tried to move the other direction to get around him but this time, he blocked her path and grabbed her arm.

"GET. OFF. OF. ME." Jane articulated each word as she tried to shake his grip.

"I know you have no reason to trust me but I can help. 'Cause you and I both know that it wasn't an accident you were hit." Jane stopped struggling and looked at Dean. After a moment's deliberation, she forcefully shook Dean's hand off of her arm.

"Fine. But if you try anything I have a gun in my bag and I'm a great shot. Which car is yours?"

"The orange pick up." And Jane started to walk towards the beat up truck, Dean trailing behind her.