Author's Note: Huge thanks to everyone for following and favoriting! Special thanks to grapejuice101, hannahroll816, nosserate, The Blue Monster Cake, JenRiley16, Evangeline Carter, and two guests for the reviews. Also, it snows in this episode, but in real life, Ohio is not that cold in May, so let's pretend it doesn't snow. Anyways, please enjoy and review this chapter!
13.
Route 666
"I'm not paying for all this," Dean said the moment Hannah dumped all her snacks down on the counter of the cash register.
"Please?" Hannah gave him a pleading look.
"No," he said again. "And you can stop looking at me like that."
Hannah didn't, and he tilted his head back groaning.
"Fine," he relented, pulling out his wallet. "But you owe me, Princess."
"I'm not your princess," Hannah replied cheerfully. She bumped his shoulder with her own, and he bumped her back, rolling his eyes.
The man behind the counter glanced up at them then shook his head, chuckling. "You've got yourself a cute girlfriend, man."
"She's not my girlfriend," Dean hastily said the same time Hannah sputtered out, "I'm not his girlfriend."
"Whatever." The man didn't seem to care and gestured to the gas tank outside. Hannah collected their plastic bag, but paused when she heard Dean's phone ring.
"Is it your dad?" she asked after he flipped it open.
He shook his head and walked passed her and out of the gas station. Hannah thanked the man behind the counter and followed Dean. She went over to the car and placed the plastic bag in the backseat. Sam was leaning over the hood of the Impala, reading a map. Some complication arose on their way to Pennsylvania, so he was trying to figure out a solution at their stop.
She offered him a cold bottled water, and he accepted it. Hannah peered at the map as she tore open the packet of chocolate chip cookies. Absently, Sam reached for a cookie as he studied the map.
"Figure out something?" Hannah inquired.
"Yeah, I think so." Sam reached for another cookie, but Hannah pulled the bag out of his reach. "You know who Dean's on the phone with?"
"No," Hannah answered, munching on a cookie.
"Okay. I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here," Sam announced, still reaching for a cookie. Hannah relented and watched him take another. "We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought."
"Yeah." Hannah furrowed her brows at Dean. He snapped his phone shut and walked back to them. "Problem is, we're not going to Pennsylvania."
Dean sounded far away, and it only made her more curious about whom he was speaking to on the phone.
"Why not?" Hannah asked, frowning when she noticed there were no more cookies left.
"I just got a call from an, uh, old friend," he told them. "Her father was killed last night, and she thinks it might be our kind of thing."
She tilted her head, frowning. "I thought you didn't have any friends..."
He shot her an annoyed look, but looked up when Sam said, "What?" in a confused voice.
"Yeah. Believe me, she never would've called if she didn't need us," Dean explained, slipping inside the driver's seat. He scowled at the them. "Are you guys coming or not?"
Hannah exchanged a bewildered glance with Sam, before climbing into the backseat.
The first hour of their drive was spent with Dean explaining his phone call. The person—the old friend—was a girl named Cassie Robinson. Her father's death apparently seemed strange enough to rule in something supernatural. When Dean finished, there was a pregnant pause in the car, one that Hannah would call awkward.
Hannah knew for a fact that Dean didn't have many friends, much less female friends. She wondered just how long they've known each other. Were they close? Why hadn't he ever mentioned her? Wouldn't he have brought her up to prove that he had friends other than Hannah?
"By old friend you mean... ?" Sam started to ask.
"A friend that's not new," Dean replied. He smirked when Hannah slapped his arm.
"Oh yeah, thanks," Sam snorted.
"So her name's Cassie, huh?" Hannah said conversationally. "You never mentioned her."
"Didn't I?" Dean asked, then avoided her hand that reached over to slap his arm again.
"No, you never mentioned this friend before," Hannah said, still leaning forward. She and Sam waited expectantly, knowing Dean would have to tell them more about this old friend.
After a long pause, Dean huffed, "Yeah, we went out."
"...Huh?"
"Wait, you mean you dated somebody? For more than one night?"
"Am I speaking a language you guys aren't getting?" Dean questioned, glaring at the road. His shoulders were tense yet he spoke with nonchalance. "Dad and I were working a job in Athens, Ohio. She was finishing up college. We went out for a couple of weeks."
It felt like slap after slap the more Dean told them. Dean dated somebody? Not just sleep with them for one night and leave, but actually stay? And hadn't told them about her? She must have been special if Dean agreed to be her boyfriend.
"Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kind of sounds like a standard car accident. I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do," Sam replied. Hannah saw him frown from the rear view mirror. "Which by the way, how does she know what we do?"
Dean said nothing.
Hannah's jaw slackened, while Sam stared at his brother in disbelief.
"You told her?" Sam demanded, incredulous. "You told her the secret? Our big family rule number one: we do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half, I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times and you tell her everything? Are you fucking kidding me?"
She loosened her grip on the bottom of her seat, alarmed by how heated Sam was over this. Hannah could understand his frustration. They were raised not to bring up what they do—ever. Hannah would never tell her ex boyfriends about her hunts. Not even when she came back from the hospital after the vampire job did she tell Ryan, who kept asking why she looked so pale and weak.
"Dean!" Sam hissed, after Dean refused to respond.
"Yeah, looks like," Dean snapped.
Sam scoffed, and leaned back, shaking his head. Hannah tried to meet Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror, but he kept his gaze on the road. She leaned back and slumped down in her seat. This was going to be a tense job, Hannah could already tell.
Hannah wished they were back in Kentucky.
The three of them entered the building and Hannah glanced around, surprised to see how busy it was. Then a girl turned around, and she was beautiful—not that Dean would ever settle for someone who didn't look as good as him. Brown skin, long dark brown hair falling in soft curls, and dark eyes that went soft and longing the moment she laid them on Dean.
"Dean," she breathed, barely audible over the noise.
"Hey, Cassie," Dean greeted her in a way that reminded Hannah of Steve McQueen. She shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the lingering stares between him and Cassie. Dean cleared his throat and gestured to her and Sam. "This is my brother, Sam, and our friend, Hannah."
She and Sam offered Cassie smiles which she returned, though it didn't reach her eyes. There was a twist in Hannah's gut the minute Cassie returned her gaze to Dean. She hated the way Cassie was looking at him, and she wondered if Dean was looking at her the same way. Why do I even care? Hannah thought, annoyed.
"Sorry about your dad," Dean said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, me too." Cassie glanced down at her feet then looked back up. "Um, now's not really a good time to talk. Think you guys can come over my place tonight?"
Dean nodded, still King of Cool, and took the paper Cassie gave him with her address. Hannah led the way out of the building. As they drove to a cheap motel, her mind drifted to Cassie. She wasn't sure whether she liked Cassie yet. She still didn't actually know the girl, and besides, her dad recently died. Could you really get to know someone who was still in that much pain? Not that it even mattered to her who Dean dated, or that it mattered to him what Hannah thought of his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, she corrected herself. The two were broken up, but there was still something lingering between them.
It bummed her out, too. Dean tried to pretend his relationship with Cassie hadn't been such a big deal, but it was. He obviously still felt something for her if he was going to drop everything just to help her. Hannah would know. She did the exact same thing.
"So... that's the girl who stole your heart, huh?" Sam remarked, once they were inside their motel room.
"She's pretty," Hannah added. She brushed past Dean, who grunted as he pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it on his bed. She stood before the mirror and looked at her hair. It got longer, nearly covering her breasts now. She was nineteen the last time it was this long. Hannah could use a haircut.
"Can I borrow the car?" Hannah asked Dean.
"Why?" Dean asked, sounding tired.
"I need a haircut," she explained, then gently pushed at his shoulder. "Please? It won't even take that long."
"I'm not worried about the amount of time it'll take you at the beauty salon," Dean replied, tilting his head at her.
She thought for a moment then pushed his shoulder harder. "Are you still mad about me—?"
"Yes, I'm still mad about you crashing my Baby."
"I was trying to save our lives!"
"You didn't have to involve my Baby!"
"You're such a freak when it comes to that car!"
"I'll drive her if you're so worried about your precious Impala," decided Sam, rising from his bed.
"But I'm not a bad driver!" Hannah insisted. "Remember when you let me drive the Impala in Indiana? I didn't crash into anything then!"
"No," Dean said. There was an edge to his voice, but Hannah wouldn't give up so easily. She leaped on his bed and dug into the pockets of his jacket for his keys. Before she could make it to the door, Dean blocked her. "Don't."
"What is your problem?" Hannah demanded. "It's just a car, Dean. Don't you trust me?"
He stared at her, his scowl slowly fading. Dean closed his eyes, sighing heavily, before opening them. "That almost worked, Princess," he said, and her eyes widened. "I tell you all the time. Those big blues won't work on me."
Hannah couldn't believe this. She looked at Sam, hoping he could make sense of this, but he just shrugged.
Dean went over to grab his jacket. He was opening the door when he turned to look at her. "Well, come on."
"You're awful," Hannah said, but followed him anyway.
"Your hair doesn't look that different," Sam told her, when they reached Cassie's house.
"My hair was covering my boobs. It needed to be cut," Hannah explained. The hairdresser had chopped her hair up to her shoulders. Dean had waited in the car listening to Survivor, and Hannah had caught him in the middle of a drum solo.
"You had long hair before, right?" Sam asked, stepping out of the car.
"Um, yeah, for most of my life," Hannah answered, adjusting her jacket. "I cut it in college, though." She tilted her head and reached up to grasp a lock of Sam's hair. "Yours is getting long too. Growing it out?"
Sam laughed. "Yeah, maybe."
Hannah paused at the door, widening her eyes at Dean. "Are you... are you wearing cologne?"
Dean looked abashed, but didn't answer, and instead knocked on the door. Sam nudged Hannah, smirking at his brother' lack of a response. Hannah didn't find it as funny. This proved that Dean still had feelings for Cassie. He was actually putting an effort in his appearance for her.
Not that he needs much effort, Hannah thought, for once allowing herself to let her gaze linger on Dean's face. Dean was a good looking man, but the worse kind of good looking. He was one of those guys who knew they were that attractive and it didn't help that he could charm a girl easily into his bed.
Cassie opened the door and stepped aside to let them in. She led them to the living room while she went to make some tea for them. It was a bit crowded on the couch, but Hannah was used to it.
"My mother's in pretty bad shape," Cassie told them as she brought out a tray of tea. "I've been staying with her. I wish she wouldn't go off by herself. She's been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about Dad."
"Why?" Dean questioned, studying her.
"He was scared," Cassie answered, pouring them their tea. "He was seeing things."
"Like what?" Dean asked, his gaze focused only on her.
"He swore he saw an awful looking black truck following him," Cassie replied, still fiddling with the tea.
"Well, who was the driver?" Hannah inquired, curious.
"He didn't talk about a driver. Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear," Cassie explained, handing them their cups of tea one at a time. "And in the accident, Dad's car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big."
Sam thanked her as he accepted his cup last. "Now you're sure this dent wasn't there before?"
Dean made a face and quickly deposited his cup of tea on the side table when Cassie wasn't looking. Hannah bit her lip, suppressing her smile. He hated tea, and it always amused Hannah how awkward he acted whenever someone offered him some.
"He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn't a scratch on that thing. It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from dad's car... leading right to the edge, where he went over." Cassie's voice broke, and Hannah felt a pang of sympathy for her. She looked back up at them. "One set of tracks! His."
"The first was a friend of your fathers?" Hannah asked gently, after Cassie composed herself.
"Best friend," Cassie corrected, nodding. "Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No Tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about dad. He 'lost control of his car.'"
"Can you think of any reason why your father and his partner might be targets?" Hannah questioned, hesitant. She didn't want to offend her.
Cassie didn't seem to take offense. "No," she replied, shaking her head.
"And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?" Hannah shot Sam a look from the incredulous tone in his voice.
"When you say it aloud like that..." Cassie rolled her dark eyes. "Listen, I'm a little skeptical about this... this ghost stuff or whatever you guys are into."
We aren't into anything, Hannah wanted to say, but held her tongue. Did she seriously think that this hunting thing was a hobby?
"Skeptical?" Dean repeated, scoffing. "If I remember, you said I was nuts."
"That was then," Cassie murmured, meeting his eyes. "I just know that I can't explain what happened up there. So I called you."
Thankfully, the sound of the door opening interrupted another nauseating moment between them. She and the boys rose to their feet, watching as Cassie rushed over to her mother, a pale, blue-eyed woman with pale red hair. Mrs. Robinson looked startled to see them in her living room.
"I had no idea you'd invited friends over," she said.
"Mom, this is Dean, a friend of mine from..." Cassie struggled to think of something. "College. And his brother, Sam, and their friend, Hannah."
"Well, I won't interrupt." She seemed flustered.
"Mrs. Robinson, we're really sorry for your loss," Hannah blurted out.
"We'd like to talk to you for a minute, if you don't mind?" Dean asked as politely as he could.
The woman looked almost affronted. "I'm really not up for that right now."
Sam quickly apologized and the three of them left afterwards, promising Cassie they'd look into it. Well, it was more Dean who promised Cassie. Sam didn't seem too convinced that this death had any supernatural elements to it. Hannah felt sick to her stomach. Dean truly liked her. He still liked her. Maybe even loved her. That hurt. It hurt so much. Hannah's heart felt constricted, unable to beat properly to a normal rhythm. Her throat was tight and she wanted to just cry in a corner somewhere alone.
When they reached their motel, Sam went to shower first. Hannah would have protested, but she was afraid a sob might escape. She busied herself with retrieving her pajamas out of her duffel bag.
"What do you think?" Dean asked, and of course he would speak to her when she just wanted to be left alone.
"I think there's a possibility that we're dealing with something weird," Hannah remarked, relieved that there was no tremble in her voice. "Though I've never heard of a killer truck."
"I meant Cassie," he said. He sounded embarrassed.
"What about Cassie?" Hannah inquired, afraid of what he was asking.
"What do you think of her?" he explained. His question caught her off guard, and she felt more uncomfortable than she did when she had to watch Dean and Cassie stare at each other.
Hannah couldn't look up from her duffel bag. "Why do you care what I think of her?"
"I don't know," Dean admitted. His voice became defensive when he continued, "I just thought since you're my friend, you'd care. You know, since you're always going on about us being friends."
He couldn't have known how she felt, but everything he said sounded so cruel. Hannah gripped the handle to her duffel bag, struggling not to break down then. "Sam's your brother. He cares too."
"But I'm asking you."
"I don't think anything, okay?" Hannah replied sharply, snapping her head up at him. "I barely know her. I've just met her today. What do you want me to say?"
"What the fuck is your problem?" Dean demanded.
"I don't have a problem," Hannah answered loftily.
"Sounds like you do," he grumbled, turning away from her. "Whatever."
The next ten minutes was spent in bitter silence. She wanted to apologize, but couldn't find the courage to do so. When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, she asked Dean if he wanted to go first, but all she got from him was a glare.
Great. Now Dean's mad at me, Hannah thought miserably.
This was all Cassie's fault.
She was spritzing on perfume when Dean received a call from Cassie. He explained that there was another death and they needed to check out the scene. He hadn't looked at Hannah when he told them this. This was the first time Dean had ever truly been upset with her. Guilt gnawed at her, because Hannah knew it was entirely her fault why he was angry with her.
Sam noticed, and brought it up on the way to the scene.
"Are you guys okay? You both look..." Sam trailed off, glancing between Dean and Hannah.
"I'm peachy," Dean groused.
"A-ok," Hannah replied, trying to sound upbeat.
"Hmm." Sam sounded unconvinced, but said nothing else about it.
They found Cassie arguing with an older man. "Close the main road. The only road in and out of town?" Hannah heard the man say as they approached them. "Accidents do happen, Cassie, and that's what they are. Accidents."
"Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy's car, see if it was pushed?" Dean asked, standing staunchly beside Cassie.
The man glanced at the three of them, and squint his eyes warily. "Who's this?"
"Dean and Sam Winchester. Hannah Singer," Sam answered for her.
"They're family friends," Cassie explained, then gestured to the man. "This is Mayor Harold Todd."
"There's one set of tire tracks. One," answered Mayor Todd. "Doesn't point to foul play."
"Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you. If you're indifferent about—" Cassie started vehemently.
"Indifferent!" Mayor Todd repeated, outraged.
"Would you close the road if the victims were white?" she accused.
The girl was bold, something Hannah was not. It made her wonder if Dean liked that in his girlfriends.
"You suggesting I'm racist, Cassie?" the mayor asked evenly. "I'm the last person you should talk to like that."
"And why's that?" Cassie questioned, scathing.
"Why don't you ask your mother," he suggested, and without another word, left them in the field.
So her mother did know something. Hannah made a mental note to remind the boys that they definitely needed to question Mrs. Robinson later. She tuned out whatever Cassie was telling Dean, and only offered a goodbye when she noticed the boys heading back to the car.
Sam explained to her that they needed to rent some suits before they posed as insurance agents. Hannah refrained from sighing, knowing she would have to dress them. The boys were hopeless when it came to picking out formal clothes.
When Hannah voiced this, Dean rolled his eyes and replied, "No one's forcing you to do this."
"You guys look less believable in those monkey suits than you do in the ones I pick out for you," Hannah retorted. "And please acknowledge how good you both look in the ones I pick compared to the ones you guys choose."
Neither of them said anything after that.
They spent about an hour picking out which suits to rent before returning to their motel. As for the boys, they had no complaints about the suits Hannah chose for them.
"Why do you always pick blue for me?" Dean asked her, once they were back inside the motel.
"Because you look good in blue," Hannah answered as she entered the bathroom. She quickly changed into a black belted green shirtdress with ruffles and sleeves reaching her elbows. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she noticed Dean looking increasingly annoyed with whatever Sam was saying.
"What's going on?" she asked, slipping on her black stilettos.
"Just mentioning my observations to Dean here," Sam replied, grinning. "You noticed how Dean looks at Cassie when she isn't looking, and vice versa?"
"Unfortunately," Hannah muttered, adjusting her heels.
"What?" Dean hissed.
"I said I have," Hannah said loudly, slipping on her grey coat. "Oh, Sam, have you mentioned how they can't stop staring at each other?"
"You think we might have more pressing issues here?" Dean snapped, turning to glare at the them.
"Hey, if we're hitting a nerve..." Sam snickered, and Hannah wished she could laugh with him instead of feeling so hurt.
"Let's go," he huffed, turning to leave the room.
Sam snickered and followed him out, closing the door behind Hannah. Dean drove them to the docks, and led them down a pier where some men were fishing in search of Ron Stubbins. They found him sitting with another man on some crates and eating their lunch.
"Hello, boys," Hannah greeted them, smiling. "Which one of you gentlemen would be Ron Stubbins?"
The white man confirmed this with a nod.
"You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?" Dean asked less warmly.
"Who are you?" he asked warily.
"We're Mr. Anderson's insurance company. We're just here to dot 'I's' and cross 'T's,'" answered Dean.
"And this insurance company needed to send three people?" Stubbins asked, eyeing them.
"Well, you know the saying. The more the merrier," Hannah replied. Her smile faltered when the distrust hadn't faded from Stubbins' face.
"We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?" Sam inquired.
"What do you mean unusual?" Stubbins asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Visions, hallucinations," Sam listed mechanically.
"It's part of a medical examination kind of thing," Hannah added, after noticing the raised eyebrows from both men. "It's all very standard."
A beat passed before Stubbins questioned, "What company did you say you were with?"
"All National Mutual," Dean answered easily. He pulled out a rumpled piece of paper Sam managed to fake. "Tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?"
"What the hell you talking about? You even speaking English?" demanded Stubbins.
Abort. Retreat. We have to leave, Hannah thought, freaking out. They were caught. The guy barely bought their insurance agents story. She was going to prison for fraud. Their lives were over—
"Son, this truck," started the black man, "a big, scary monster looking thing?"
"Yeah actually, I think so."
"Hmm."
"What?" Dean asked, interested.
"I have heard of a truck like that," the man admitted.
"You have?" Sam shared a surprised glance with Hannah. "Where?"
"Not where. When," he corrected. "Back in the sixties, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes, they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck."
"Did they catch the guy who did it?" Dean questioned.
"Never found him. Hell, not sure they even really looked." Stubbins stiffened besides his friend when he continued, "See there was a time, this town wasn't too friendly to all its citizens."
"Thank you." Hannah led them out of the docks and back to the car. "So, this truck... it keeps coming up."
"You know, I was thinking. You guys heard of the Flying Dutchman?" Dean asked, looking at them both.
"Yeah, a ghost ship, infused with the Captain's evil spirit. It was basically part of him," Sam answered.
"So, what if we're dealing with the same thing?" Dean suggested.
Hannah nodded, leaning against the car. "That's actually believable. A phantom truck that's an extension of a ghost, you know, re-enacting past crimes."
"The victims have all been black men," Sam pointed out.
"I think it's more than that. They all seem connected to Cassie and her family," Dean murmured.
"And the mayor did mention Cassie's mom," Hannah added.
"Oh, and you might also want to mention that other thing," Sam said to his brother, smiling.
"What other thing?" Dean asked lowly.
"The serious, unfinished business?" Sam said.
Dean clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.
Sam let out a small laugh. "Dean, what is going on between you two?"
He hesitated, glancing in Hannah's direction. He's still mad, she thought, remembering their conversation from last night.
"Alright, so maybe we were a little bit more involved than I said," Dean confessed. From the disbelieving look on Sam's face, he admitted, "Okay, a lot more. Maybe. And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn't have."
"Ah, look man, everybody's got to open up to someone sometime," Sam said, shrugging.
"Yeah. I don't," Dean hissed, gesturing to himself. "It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended."
"But it must have been nice," Hannah spoke up, startling him. "You know, being with someone for that long and feeling like you could trust them with something like that."
She found herself meeting his eyes, no longer hard and guarded.
"Did you love her?" Sam asked, his question breaking their gaze.
"Oh God," Dean groaned, turning to the driver's seat.
"You were in love with her, but you dumped her," Sam said incredulously. Dean stared at the ground, silent, and Hannah widened her eyes. "Oh, wow. She dumped you."
Hannah's gut twisted as bile rose in her throat. She knew it was wrong to feel upset that Sam was just being supportive of his brother, but she couldn't help it. Hannah supposed she could say something, but then that would only complicate things. How could he love her when she rejected him? He didn't even know her for that long. He couldn't have loved her.
Oh God, she wanted to vomit.
Hannah and Sam were deciding what to eat for dinner when Dean announced he was heading to Cassie's house. It was the first time since they found out it was Cassie who broke things off that Dean had spoken to them. She couldn't imagine Dean getting his heart broken. Dean, the man who could commit for only one night. Mr. Hit it and Quit it. It was almost unbelievable. It did give Hannah hope. If he could settle down with Cassie, then maybe…
"Huh?" Hannah realized she had been ignoring Sam for the past two minutes.
"Pizza or Chinese takeout?" Sam asked, holding up his phone.
"Oh, um, pizza," she decided, settling deeper into the bed.
It was silent, save for Sam ordering a large box of pepperoni pizza. When he snapped his phone shut, he made his way over to Hannah and sat down on the edge of the bed. He touched her calf, squeezing it a little.
"What's going on between you and Dean?" he asked, concerned.
"Nothing's going on," Hannah replied, bringing her arm up so she could rest her chin on the palm of her hand.
"Oh really?" Sam shot her an unconvinced look. "What about last night?"
Hannah realized they could do this all night, go back and forth between questions and lame answers. Sam was persistent that way, a trait she was starting to find annoying. She sighed and slowly sat up.
"He asked me what I thought of Cassie," Hannah told him.
"And you said...?"
"I didn't say anything. I asked him why he didn't just ask you this since you're his brother and you care more about his relationship than I do."
"Well, of course I care," Sam snorted. He fell back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "You know Dean. He's not exactly Mr. Monogamy, so hearing that he told a girl what he does for a living, let alone date her is kind of huge."
"And that's exactly why I... why we were distant today," Hannah said, tucking a wavy lock of hair behind her ear.
Sam widened his eyes. "You aren't jealous, are you?"
Her jaw slackened and she shook her head vigorously. "No! It's not that, it's just..." She started to fidget with her hands. "I wished he told me about... her. I mean, normally this wouldn't be such a big deal for a guy of Dean's age, but this is Dean we're talking about and he didn't even tell us about her."
"Oh." Sam nodded, taking in her words. "So, you're not jealous, you're just... disappointed."
"Yeah. Exactly." Hannah looked up from her fidgeting hands. "We're supposed to be friends. I mean, he really loves her. He dropped everything just to help her, and he didn't tell us about her."
"Dean likes to keep things to himself," Sam said, turning his head to her. "He has this habit of shouldering his and everyone's problems. And since we found out that Cassie dumped him, I'm guessing he didn't want to burden anyone with his problems."
That sounded exactly like Dean, and it bothered Hannah that she never considered that. She felt so selfish. It wasn't any of her business and she realized now that she owed Dean an apology. Still, Hannah had her doubts about Cassie being fit as Dean's girlfriend. Dean often put on a different persona when around girls, and civvies in general. Hannah could only wonder how long it took for him to show Cassie his true self, or even if he did at all.
Dean showed her his true self the moment he spilled the hunter's secret, Hannah thought.
"Our boy is all grown up," she said, pretending to weep.
Sam smiled. He tapped her leg after a moment of silence. "It's fine if you are jealous, Han."
"I'm not jealous," Hannah insisted, kicking him. "Think any good movies are on right now?"
If he noticed she was changing the subject, Sam didn't remark on it.
Dean was nervous.
Not because he was in love with Cassie—which he wasn't—but because he was going to be alone with her. Sam and Hannah kept it from getting too awkward between them, kept the conversation from drifting to their breakup, and now Sam was urging him to talk to her.
He wasn't in love with Cassie. Sure, he definitely cared for her, might have even loved with her if Dad had decided to stick around longer, but... all Dean could say was he felt something more than a crush and something less than the big L for her. He had been young, stupid, and full of lust now that Dean thought about it. Why else would he tell fearless Cassie about the supernatural?
He stood up straighter when the door opened, greeting Cassie with a cool smile.
"Hey, come on in." She stepped aside to let him enter.
"So, are you busy or...?" Dean trailed off, unsure if he had interrupted whatever she had been doing.
"The paper's doing a tribute to Jimmy," she explained, shutting the door behind her. "I was just going through his stuff, his awards... Trying to find the words."
"That's got to be tough," Dean commented, then winced. He had never been good at comforting people, especially girls. Don't even get him started on Hannah.
"For years, this family owned the paper—the Dorians. They had a white's only policy. After they sold it, Jimmy became the first black reporter. He didn't stop until he became editor. He taught me everything..." Cassie drifted off, and Dean could tell she was lost in her own thoughts. She tilted her head, looking at him strangely. "Where's your brother? And your... friend?"
Dean leaned against the wooden pillar, frowning at her. Why did she take so long to say friend? He decided against asking her about it. "Not here," he answered, shrugging.
"Oh, alright." Cassie leaned against the opposite pillar. "So, um, what brings you here?"
"Trying to find the connection between the three victims," he replied. Dean swore she deflated a little by his response. "By the way, did you talk to your mom about what Todd said about not being a racist?"
"I did. She didn't want to talk about it."
"Right."
Then there was silence. Dean glanced down at his feet, suppressing a smile. He had suspected it since he first saw her this week, but now that question about his brother and friend confirmed it.
"So just then, why did you ask where Sam and Hannah were?" Dean suddenly asked.
"Nothing. Not important," Cassie replied easily. Her smile couldn't have been faker.
"Could it be because, without them here it's just you and me?" Dean questioned, staring at her.
"It's not easier. Look, I—" Cassie started, but Dean brushed her off, turning away so he wouldn't have to look at her.
"No, it's fine." He didn't want to do this. Talking about it brought up old memories, some Dean preferred not to dwell on, so Sam could kiss his ass. "We'll keep it strictly business."
"I forgot you do that," Cassie remarked. He could feel the heat of her dark eyes burning into his back.
"Do what?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Oh. Whenever we get, what's the word..." she pretended to think. "Close? Anywhere in the neighborhood of emotional vulnerability, you back off. Or make some joke. Or find any way to shut the door on me."
Dean bit the inside of his cheek, irritated. He swallowed down his frustrations and forced out a bark of laughter. "Oh that's hilarious," he snarled, turning back to face her. "See, I'm not the one who took that big final door and slammed it behind me."
"Okay, wait a minute—"
"And I'm not the one who took the key and buried it."
"We done with this metaphor?" Cassie demanded.
"All I'm saying is I was totally upfront with you back then, and you nailed me for it," Dean shouted, unable to stop his anger from surging out.
"The guy I'm with, the guy I'm hoping might be in my future tells me he professionally pops ghosts," she exclaimed.
"That's not the words I used!" Dean yelled.
"And that he has to leave, to go work with his father," she continued.
"I did!" he said hotly.
"All I could think was, if you want out fine, but don't tell me this insane story," Cassie said, hurt plain on her face.
"It was the truth, Cassie, and I notice it didn't sound insane the minute you thought I could help you," Dean pointed out, his voice still raised.
"Well back then I thought you just wanted to dump me!" Cassie exclaimed.
"Whoa! Let's not forget who dumped who, okay?"
"I thought it was what you wanted!"
"Well, it wasn't."
Dean was suddenly aware of the proximity of their bodies.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Cassie said, anguished.
"Well, you did," Dean snapped.
"I'm sorry!"
"Yeah, me too."
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily and then out of nowhere she kissed him. He was too shocked to kiss back, and could only gape at her with wide eyes when she pulled back. Recovering quickly, Dean moved his hands to her face and kissed her hard. She scratched her nails down his back, pulling at the shirt.
"Wait!" Cassie broke away, but not out of his hold. "What about Hannah?"
"What?" Dean couldn't believe this. "What about Hannah?"
"Aren't you two...?" Cassie looked up at him, the fearlessness gone from her face.
He let go of her face. Dean had the strangest impulse to laugh—or groan. Him and Hannah? Together? That made as much sense as Van Halen performing with the Spice Girls.
"We've known each other since we were kids," he said, unable to suppress his laughter.
"So? That wouldn't stop you from dating her," Cassie murmured, her voice smaller than he knew she wished it was. "Do you have feelings for her?"
"I don't want her to die or anything," Dean answered. It was more than that. He couldn't have her die. He'd never forgive himself if she did.
"That's sweet of you," she said, her smile a touch sardonic.
Did she seriously think he was dating Hannah? Sure, she was pretty and had an incredible rack and stared at him with an intensity that scared him more times than he cared to admit, but… she was Hannah. She was Bobby's little girl. She was his friend… probably his only friend. He wondered if they gave off that couple-ly vibe, but they didn't do anything that warranted that sort of assumption... right?
"Cassie," Dean started, smiling the same smile he perfected at fourteen. The same one that gave girls weak knees and butterflies in their bellies. "I have never looked at Hannah the way I look at you, okay? She's just a friend."
She gazed at him, her eyes searching his for the truth. Dean stared back, challenging her.
After what seemed like an eternity, Cassie kissed him, that fervor from their first kiss remaining. "Come one," she murmured against his mouth. Dean let her lead him to her bedroom.
It took all of Hannah's willpower not to vomit when she woke up and saw Dean still missing.
When they first started this search for John Winchester, Hannah decided that none of them should fraternize with any civvies during jobs. She believed it distracted them from figuring out how to kill the creature they were hunting. Boys rarely approached Hannah, and she guessed it was because they probably thought she was dating one of the Winchesters. Hannah didn't have to worry about Sam often since he was still mourning Jessica.
Dean was another matter.
Sometimes between jobs, he'd disappear in the bar they were hustling at with an attractive girl then come back hours later, clothes rumpled and a dopey smile on his face. Hannah never mentioned anything since they weren't hunting during those times, only reminding him to wear a condom.
"I always wrap my shit up," Dean had said. "And if something itches, you can always check it for me, can't you?"
"I don't specialize in venereal diseases," Hannah had huffed, her face warm.
Hannah had to buy some ginger ale from the nearby convenience store to quell her stomach. When she returned to the motel room, Sam was watching the news. She widened her eyes when she heard that Mayor Todd was killed last night. His death seemed to match the recent ones, but at the same time it didn't. She didn't get much time to ponder this as Sam motioned for her to go shower while he called his brother.
After they were both dressed, Hannah and Sam hailed a cab to the scene. They flashed some badges to the cops patrolling the area and sought out the sheriff. As he explained the details to them, Hannah was still perplexed. She wanted to ask Sam what he thought, but he was still questioning the sheriff. She nudged him when she spotted Dean making their way towards them. His clothes were rumpled yet there was no dopey smile on his face. Hannah assured the sheriff that Dean was with them and he left them to speak to some other officers.
"Where were you last night?" Sam asked, no beating around the bush. "You didn't make it back to the hotel."
"Well..." Dean looked at Hannah. "Not gonna chew me out, Princess?"
"For what?"
"For sleeping on the job."
"No."
He opened his mouth then closed it, surprised. Hannah shifted on her feet, uneasy with the weight of both Dean and Sam's stares on her.
"Dean, I'm sorry," she said, her words rushed. "I wasn't acting like a friend the other night because I was... well, hurt that you never told me about your first girlfriend, but I realize now that it isn't any of my business, so... friends?"
Dean regarded her for a moment, before smiling. Hannah couldn't help but return his smile with her own.
"Yeah—oof!" Dean stumbled back when Hannah launched herself on him. He patted her back and quickly untangled himself from her. "So, what happened?"
"Every bone crushed. Internal organs turned to pudding. The cops are all stumped, it's like something ran him over," Sam explained as the three of them walked back to the Impala.
"Something like a truck?" Dean guessed.
"Yep," Hannah affirmed.
"Tracks?"
"Nope."
"What was the Mayor doing here anyway?" Dean wondered.
"He owned the property," Hannah answered. "Bought it a few weeks ago, actually."
"But he's white," Dean pointed out, puzzled. "He doesn't fit the pattern."
"Killings didn't happen up on the road. That doesn't fit either," Sam retorted, then paused in his walking. "You have access to the articles at Cassie's work. Research it."
"What about you?" Dean asked him. He sounded mildly annoyed, and Hannah could only guess it had something to do with taking orders from his little brother.
"Courthouse. Got to find out more about this property, right?" Sam replied, then gestured for keys. "I can drop you off at her work."
They made it back to the Impala, and Hannah played with her hamsa amulet. The building where Cassie worked wasn't too far, and Hannah was about to climb in the passenger seat when Dean paused on his way out. He twisted around to look at her.
"You aren't coming?" he asked, frowning.
"Oh, um..." Hannah shrunk back, unsure of how to tell him this. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Well, why not?" Dean pressed. Could he be anymore clueless?
"You and Cassie just got back together, and it'll be weird if I'm there—"
"No, it won't."
You're supposed to be an expert on girls, Hannah thought, exasperated. Couldn't Dean just leave it alone?
"Look, some girls are territorial when it comes to boys, and I don't want her to get the wrong idea..."
Dean dropped his head, groaning. He looked back up at her, and said, "Fine. Sam, don't you dare fuck up my Baby, got it?"
Sam flashed him a thumbs up. Dean glanced at Hannah then finally slipped out of the passenger seat, allowing her to climb over and plop down on the leather seat.
The courthouse records showed that the Mayor had bought an abandoned property. It turned out to be a huge deal since the previous owners—the Dorians—had owned the property for 150 years. According to Cassie, the Dorians previously owned the newspaper she worked at, and were pretty racist considering they had a whites-only staff policy.
Hannah guessed it was one of the Dorians haunting the town. She was proven right when Dean mentioned a Cyrus Dorian who had gone missing, and that the killings began the day after the mayor bulldozed the old property. The only problem was that they needed to figure out where to locate Cyrus's remains.
They spent some time guessing where to find Cyrus's remains at a local diner, and everything was almost back to the way it was until Cassie called.
"Cassie's in trouble," was all Dean said before asking their waitress for the bill.
When they reached Cassie's place, Hannah felt an urge to upchuck her dinner as she watched Cassie run into Dean's arms, crying. Swallowing down her hurt, Hannah offered to make tea for the terrified girl and her mother. Sam offered to help Hannah, and the two messed around in the kitchen.
"Han, you looked downright sick to your stomach when you saw Dean and Cassie," Sam mentioned.
"Can you blame me? They're so darn cute," Hannah replied, shooting him a sweet smile. He snorted and poured the boiling water into two teacups. "I'm glad they made up and all, but I'd rather not watch them do any couple-ly things"
"I thought you'd be all for it," Sam commented, and she looked up at him sharply. "I mean, you're so encouraging when it comes to these sorts of things."
"This conversation ends now," Hannah said cheerily, adding a few drops of lemon to each drink. They each took one teacup and walked back to the living room where she handed one to Mrs. Robinson, while Sam gave the other one to Cassie.
"Maybe you could throw a couple of shots in that," Cassie joked, though it fell flat with her hands shaking the cup. Dean tucked her closer to his side, like the protective boyfriend Hannah imagined he'd be.
"So, you didn't see the truck?" Sam asked her as he settled himself in the armchair. Hannah leaned against the armrest, tempted to sit on it.
"It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast, and then it was just gone," she answered, her hands still rattling the cup. She glanced at them. "Why didn't it kill us?"
"Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first," Dean told her.
"Mrs. Robinson, Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died," Hannah said, looking at the older woman. She had been silent since they arrived, and Hannah wondered if she was keeping something from them.
"Mom?" Cassie called softly. Her mother was trembling in her chair.
"Oh. Martin was under a lot of stress. You can't be sure about what he was seeing," Mrs. Robinson dismissed, lifting the cup to her mouth.
"Well after tonight, I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck," Dean spoke up. There was an edge to his voice, and Hannah recognized that he was getting irritated. "What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked, okay? Your daughter could die. So, if you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us about it."
"Dean." Cassie shot him a reproachful look.
A beat passed, and Mrs. Robinson reluctantly set down her teacup.
"Yes," she admitted, her eyes downcast. "Yes, he said he saw a truck."
"Did he know who it belonged to?" Sam inquired, his voice not unkind.
"He thought he did," Mrs. Robinson murmured.
"Who was it?" Dean pressed.
"Cyrus," she snapped "A man named Cyrus."
Hannah exchanged a knowing look with the boys, and watched as Dean pulled out a newspaper article. There was a black and white picture of a dark-haired man on the front, and Mrs. Robinson widened her eyes at it.
"Is this Cyrus?" Dean asked.
"Cyrus Dorian died more than forty years ago," she informed them.
"How do you know he died, Mrs. Robinson?" Hannah asked softly. "The papers said he went missing. How do you know he died?"
"We were all very young. I dated Cyrus a while, I was also seeing Martin... in secret of course. Inter-racial couples didn't go over too well back then," she revealed tentatively. "When I broke it off with Cyrus and when he found out about Martin, I don't know, he, changed. His hatred. His hatred was frightening."
"The rumors," Sam urged her.
"There were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of a truck. Nothing was ever done. Martin and a..." she sounded close to crying. "Martin and I, we were going to get married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn't want the attention."
Mrs. Robinson started sobbing as she told them that someone set fire to the church he was going to get married at. Hannah moved off the armrest and went to the bathroom downstairs, collecting some toilet paper. She handed it to Mrs. Robinson who accepted it tearfully.
"Why didn't you call the cops?" she heard Dean ask.
Because the cops wouldn't have helped an interracial couple, Hannah thought, perching herself carefully on the armrest of Sam's chair.
"This was forty years ago," Mrs. Robinson explained, sniffling. "He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus' body into the truck and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land and all three of them kept that secret all of these years."
"And now all three are gone," Sam stated.
"And so is Mayor Todd. Now he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist. Why would he say that?" Dean questioned.
"He was a good man. He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus' disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done he..." the older woman let out a shuddering breath. "He did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done."
Cassie blinked back tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought I was protecting them, and now there's no one left to protect," she replied, her voice wavering.
"Yes, there is." Dean looked at the girl beside him, and so did Mrs. Robinson. She reached for her mother's hand, and Cassie clasped it tightly.
"Ah, my life was so simple," Hannah heard Sam lament. He was leaning against the Impala, while Dean paced back and forth in front of him. "Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms."
She looked up from glove compartment and exchanged an amused glance with Dean. She was sitting in the passenger seat searching for some gloves for the boys. The cold was almost unbearable, and Hannah was stuck wearing her grey coat over her ribbed knit pink sweater and light blue denim jeans.
"So, I guess I saved you from a boring existence," Dean said, no longer pacing.
"Yeah, occasionally I miss boring," Sam retorted.
"So, this killer truck—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.
"I miss conversations that didn't start with 'this killer truck,'" he sighed. Hannah burst into uncontrollable giggles, while Dean chuckled.
"Well, this Cyrus guy. Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for forty years," Dean summarized.
"So, what woke it up?" Sam wondered.
Hannah rolled down the window and poked her head out. "The construction on his house—or the destruction."
"Right. Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless," Sam said, glancing at her.
"Found them!" Hannah exclaimed, lifting two pairs of black gloves. She stepped out of the passenger seat and handed one pair to Sam and the other to Dean.
"And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus' murder quiet and unsolved," Dean continued, moving so Hannah could stand between him and Sam.
"Now his spirit is awakened and out for blood," Sam added.
"That sounds like the tagline for a shitty horror movie," Dean remarked. He noticed Hannah looking at his hands. "What's up?"
"Why aren't you putting on your gloves?" Hannah asked him. When he said nothing, she bumped his shoulder with her own. "As a registered nurse, I'm telling you to wear them."
"And if I don't?"
"You can get frostbite and lose one of your fingers."
"Wear the gloves, Dean," encouraged another voice. Hannah peered behind Dean to find Cassie, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. "So, my mom's asleep. Now what?"
Dean's back faced her and Sam as he spoke to Cassie. Hannah heard her say something about being authoritative before Dean mumbled something. Sam elbowed her when Dean started to kiss Cassie, and she refrained from rolling her eyes. Sam cleared his throat, and Dean gave him the finger. Dean finally pulled away, and hopped into the driver's seat, yelling, "You guys coming or what?"
Hannah offered Cassie a mild wave goodbye before climbing into the backseat. Half an hour passed until they finally reached the swamp. Thankfully, there was a tractor on the property and Dean drove it over to the swamp where he connected the hook with the truck in the swamp. It was a messy thing to do, but Dean managed to get it done.
At the wheel of the tractor, Dean pressed on the gas and slowly dragged the black truck out of the swamp. Sam gestured for him to stop once the truck was out of the swamp, and Dean turned off the engine. He made his way over to the trunk of the Impala and lifted his hand for a high five. Hannah laughed and gave him one.
"Now I know what she sees in you," Sam said as Dean rummaged through his duffel bag full of weapons.
"What?" he asked distractedly.
"Come on, man. You can admit it to us," Sam coaxed, smiling. "You're still in love with her."
"Can we focus please?" Hannah piped up.
"Right on, Princess," Dean mumbled, then handed her a flashlight. "Hold that."
"Sure thing, Dean-o." She grinned at his frown.
They went over to the truck and stood by the driver's door. Hannah glanced at the boys, wondering who would open it, but it was ultimately Dean who opened the door, stepping back when Cyrus Dorian's remains fell out. Hannah scrunched up her nose from the smell and watched the boys to drag the body over to a wooden table.
She helped salt and burn the body, watching it burn. Hannah glanced up at them, and asked, "Think that will do it?"
The sound of an engine revving answered her question.
"I guess not," Dean breathed, staring at the killer truck with wide eyes.
"So, burning the body had no effect on that thing?" Sam asked as the headlights nearly blinded them.
"Sure it did. Now it's really pissed," Dean replied, and Hannah nearly smacked him.
"But Cyrus's ghost is gone, right?" he asked, looking at her and his brother.
"Apparently not the part that's fused with the truck—Hey! Where are you going?" Hannah shouted at Dean. He had started walking back to his car.
"Going for a little ride," he answered from behind the trunk.
"What?" Hannah and Sam exclaimed.
"Gonna lead that thing away," Dean explained, slamming his trunk shut. "You guys got to burn that busted piece of shit."
"How the hell are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?" Sam demanded. He gaped at Dean, barely catching the green duffel bag that was thrown at him.
"Figure it out," was Dean's response before driving off. Hannah grasped Sam's arm and brought him down, hiding behind the table where they burned Cyrus' remains. Once Dean and the truck were gone, they both stood and looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
Not even a minute passed when For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica chimed out of her pocket. Hannah answered, wincing from the roughness in Dean's voice.
"Yeah, so, you have to give us a minute—"
"I don't have a fucking minute! What are we doing?"
Hannah glanced at Sam who was studying a map in John's journal.
"Um, let me get back to you," she said, then promptly hung up before he could shout at her. "Sam? Anything?"
"Yeah, I think I found a way to get rid of Cyrus' spirit," he answered without looking up. "Remember what Cassie's mom was telling us? About the church he burned down with the children?"
"Kind of. I was getting tissues for her mom," Hannah said, frowning. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"Church is hallowed ground, whether the church is still there or not. Evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, sometimes they're destroyed," he explained.
"Right, so if Cyrus's truck goes then he gets destroyed," Hannah realized, then smiled. "Good thinking. Um, let me call Cassie and see if she can get some directions."
"That would be helpful," Sam said.
She dialed Cassie's number and asked for accurate directions to the burned down church. Hannah wrote it down on an empty page of John's journal then had Sam repeat them to Dean. He put his phone on speaker, and Hannah cringed from Dean's shouting. She held her breath when it was silent for a couple seconds.
"Dean?" she called, afraid. "Please tell me you're there."
"Where'd it go?" he asked, shocked.
"Dean, you're where the church was," Sam said.
"What fucking church?"
"The place Cyrus burned down. Murdered all those kids."
"There's not a whole lot left."
Sam explained to him the hallowed ground and how evil spirits are sometimes destroyed when crossing over it. "So, I figured maybe that would get rid of it," he finished.
"Maybe?" he echoed, anger and disbelief coloring his tone. "Maybe! What if you were wrong?"
"Huh. Honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to me," Sam admitted, sheepish. "Uh, hello?"
"I think he hung up," Hannah said after a few seconds of silence. She punched Sam's arm. "I can't believe you were just winging it back there."
"Sometimes that's all you can do, Han," Sam admitted, brushing some hair out of his eyes.
When Dean returned, he immediately shouted at Sam, "I'm gonna kill you!"
Hannah stepped in front of him before he got the chance.
"You're not hurt, right?" she asked, checking him for injuries.
"No, no." Dean tilted his head out of Hannah's grasp. "I don't have a scratch on me, but you might want to check on Sam, because he's about to get a black eye for almost giving me a goddamn heart attack!"
"But you already had one, remember?" Sam pointed out. Hannah gasped and looked up at Dean, but he didn't seem to angry. Instead, he laughed and Sam joined in not long after.
"You guys have a terrible sense of humor," Hannah said, crossing her arms. Yet she couldn't keep her frown when Dean and Sam were laughing together.
They checked out their motel the next morning and waited by the docks for Cassie. Dean had wanted to spend a little time with her before they left, and Sam didn't need much convincing. Hannah was fiddling with her phone while Dean and Cassie talked.
"Hey." Hannah looked up from Sam's voice and rolled her eyes when he gestured to Dean kissing Cassie. Sam chuckled at her and offered a small wave to Cassie as Dean climbed into the passenger seat.
"It was nice meeting you," Cassie told her, smiling.
"Yeah, you too." Hannah forced a smile..
Sam drove for most of the day while Dean slept. Hannah had stayed quiet until she was certain Dean was in a deep sleep that she decided to play I spy with Sam. They stopped playing the game, though, and found themselves talking about their favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone.
It was the middle of the night when they reached their first gas station outside of Ohio. Dean had woken up then and insisted he drive after he paid for the gas. Hannah followed him inside the gas station and went to bathroom before buying a few snacks for the three of them. She and Dean leaned against the car, waiting as the car collected the gas.
"Do you miss her?" Hannah asked.
"Do I miss her?" Dean repeated, looking up from the gas pump. "... I shouldn't."
"Why not?" Hannah inquired, curious now.
"Because she won't miss me," he answered, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "She said she didn't see much hope for us."
Ouch.
"Well, she doesn't know what she's missing out on," she said, touching his elbow.
Dean widened his eyes, then smirked. "Trying to win my heart, Princess?"
She smiled, covering one of her cheeks with her hand. "I didn't know you were so easy win over."
"Just give me a bacon burger and tell me how handsome I am, then I'm yours," he advised, putting away the gas pump.
"I'll keep that in mind," Hannah replied, bumping him with her shoulder as she climbed into the backseat.