Assume that the events of "Wendigo" through "Bloody Mary" happened pretty much as in canon. I'm pretty sure I don't want to spend the rest of my life rewriting every single episode, so I'm trying to pick the ones that really interest me.

Sam could admit that being on the road with Deanne again was…not as bad as she'd been expecting. It wasn't like being with Mom, even if they were following what leads they got; Deanne, for example, did not expect her to be up and coherent at six every morning. But she could have done without the endless succession of gas stations.

Not that Deanne would hear a word against her beloved car. She'd been in love with the thing since before she was old enough to be in lust with it, and Sam conceded that having a big trunk was useful. Still, it ate gas like crazy; Dee probably spent more feeding the Impala than she did feeding herself.

Sam was checking her email as they pulled in to yet another gas station. Deanne let her drive sometimes, but today was not one of those times.

Sam had played more Bejeweled in the last few weeks than in the entirety of her previous life.

"All right, I figure we'll get to Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight," Deanne said as she stopped the car. Sam, skimming subject lines, said nothing. "Sam listens to Britney Spears."

Sam cut her eyes in Deanne's direction and said, "I'm listening. I'm just busy."

"Busy doing what?" Deanne asked.

Sam hefted her phone in illustration and said, "Checking emails." Deanne opened her door and Sam had a moment of hope that was the end of the conversation, but as she was getting out her sister said—patiently, as if extracting information from a small child—"Emails from who?" Deanne walked around to the gas pump and ran her card through it.

Sam sighed and said, "From my friends at Stanford."

Deanne paused in the midst of removing the nozzle from its hook. "You're kidding," she said. "You still keep in touch with your college buddies?"

Sam looked up from her phone, since clearly she wasn't getting any reading done right now. "Yes. Why not?"

Deanne leaned on the side of the car, watching the gas pump tick. "What exactly do you tell them? About, you know, where you've been, what you've been doing?"

"I tell them I'm on a road trip with my big sister. I tell them I need some time off after Jess." Most everyone had even stopped telling her it was dangerous for two women to be on the road alone, too, which was pleasant.

"So…you lie to them," Deanne said, as if she'd scored a point.

"No," Sam said, nettled. "I just…don't tell them everything."

Deanne snorted at her and said, "Yeah, that's called lying. I mean, seriously babe, I get it, telling the truth is way worse."

Sam closed her eyes and counted, but only made it to three before saying, "So what am I supposed to do? Just cut everyone out of my life?" Deanne shrugged eloquently, and Sam stared at her. "You're serious."

"Look. Yes, it sucks, but a job like this? You can't get close to people."

"You're kind of anti-social, you know that?" Sam said, and picked up her phone again.

"Yeah, whatever," Deanne muttered. That sounded like a conversation-ender to Sam, so she looked back down at her phone and scrolled further through the mails.

A subject line caught her eye: SAM CALL ME ASAP, and Becca wasn't usually the all-caps type, so Sam opened the mail. She read it in increasing consternation until she said out loud, "God."

"What?" Deanne said.

"I've got an email from one of my friends, Rebecca Warren," Sam said, only half her attention on Deanne.

"She have a hot brother?" Deanne asked.

Sam shot her a look and said, "Brother, yes. Zack. And apparently he's been charged with murder. He's been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

"Seriously? What kind of people were you hanging out with, princess?"

"Dee, come on. I know Zack. He's not a killer."

Deanne said pointedly, "Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you."

"They're in Saint Louis," Sam said. "We're going." Deanne laughed and replied, "Look, I'm sorry about your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem."

Sam turned so she could meet Deanne's eyes squarely. "It is my problem. They're my friends."

"Saint Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam," Deanne said. Sam stared at her, feeling her jaw set stubbornly. Deanne looked back, at least until the gas pump shut off and she had an excuse to look away. Deanne put the nozzle in its place and got back into the car. She closed the door with a little more force than necessary and glanced over, tapping her fingers on the wheel. Sam just kept staring.

"If we had a hunt you'd be out of luck," Deanne said finally, and put the Impala in gear.