I can't believe I just said that! Holy crap, I just flirted with the hottest guy I've ever met and didn't end up blushing like an idiot. Maybe I'm finally figuring this whole flirting thing out.

I push on the door to go out to the cars and it doesn't budge. My eyes find a sign near the handle that says pull and I realize that I'm still an idiot. So much for my exit. Maybe no one noticed.

I quickly pull open the door and walk outside. I wonder for a moment if I should ride with Dean or Sam. Dean will definitely keep me distracted from worrying about tonight, but Sam…well, Sam's got this hurt puppy dog look on his face that makes me want to give him a hug. Sam just seems so tragic. I wish I knew more about these guys, but I don't really know how to ask. I mean, you can't just ask someone to give you a run-down of their life. Especially when they know next to nothing about you, too.

I pause and wait for the boys to catch up. They soon join me outside, Dean with his usual swagger and Sam walking behind him at a slower pace, dragging his feet. Dean immediately moves to the driver's door of his shiny, black Impala. He plops down in the driver's seat and immediately turns up the radio. He grins at me and gives me a questioning look. I hold up one finger and hurry over to Sam. He's still fumbling with my keys, sorting out my car key.

"Hey, Sam." I say quietly, staying a few feet away so as not to encroach on his space.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Are you okay?" I venture.

Sam takes a deep breath, eyes still focused on the car door before turning to face me, "I'm fine. I'm just not really looking forward to this, you know?"

I nod, but I'm fairly certain that he's only telling me a half-truth. I wonder if I should push it, but decide not to. Instead, against all my better journalist judgment, I decide to just up and say what I'm wondering, "Look, Sam, do you want to talk about it or do you just want to be left alone?"

Sam gives me a sad smile like he appreciates the sentiment, but I can already tells that he's going to say no, that he doesn't want to talk. True to my prediction, Sam slowly shakes his head, "I'm okay, Lindy. Really. I think Dean's waiting for you."

I know a dismissal when I hear one, so I nod and retreat. I mentally shrug to myself. Can't fix the whole world's problems, Lindy. Might as well settle for trying to finish what you've started here. Maybe it's for the best anyway. I'm not really good with the touchy-feely stuff. I'm alright at getting people to spill their guts, but comforting them afterwards doesn't usually come with the territory. Besides, I don't really know Sam. I shouldn't presume to have any right to have him confide in me.

I open the passenger door of the Impala and settle into the comfortable leather. The artful guitar of Allman Brothers' music persuades me to let it go. Besides, Dean is still grinning at me.

"Don't worry. Sammy's almost always like that." he reassures me.

"If you say so."

"So, back to the motel?"

"Sure."

"Sleep with me?"

My eyes snap up to Dean's face. Did he just say what I think he just said?

"What?" I demand.

He shrugs, "Figured as long as you're agreeing with everything it was worth a shot."

My breath escapes me in a surprised huff. I'll say one thing for Dean, he can never be described as shy.

"You're…incorrigible." I finally reply, unable to think of another word to better characterize him.

Dean's smile becomes a little uncertain and I wonder, in a brief flash of amusement, if he knows what that means, "Uh…thanks?"

"No, seriously, Dean, what do you want to do for the next couple hours?" I ask. He opens his mouth to reply so I hastily add, "Besides that."

Deans smiles guiltily and pauses to actually think about the question, "Well, we've got a couple hours before dark when we have to face our newest version of evil…I'm thinking take a nap."

I can't completely suppress a laugh, the suggestion is so ridiculous. A nap? He can't seriously believe he'll be able to sleep at a time like this. But he's not laughing. Smiling, but not laughing or grinning like he's made a joke.

"You're serious?" I ask, "You're going to sleep?"

Dean shrugs with the arm he's not using to steer, "Why not? I hunt better when I'm well-rested."

"But…but…how can you even think about sleeping? I mean, don't you feel…I don't know, wound up?" I stammer in my surprise.

"Nope." Dean says.

Now his smile is almost one of amusement at me. It's the kind of smile I use to get when I first starting working at the magazine and would get really excited about a new story. The more senior writers would give me that smile that said something like 'How cute, a novice.' It's kind of degrading, but it never stopped me from being excited. New stories are exciting. When they stop being exciting, that's when I'll have to start thinking about another career.

"Well, I can't sleep. Maybe I'll start writing my article."

"That sounds thrilling." Dean says sarcastically, "Then, maybe when you're done you and Sam can play Scrabble."

"Are you calling me boring, Mr. Naptime?" I wonder.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Dean replies without pause.

We're almost to the motel now since this town is as diminutive as they come and Dean doesn't exactly drive slow. Then again, you don't own a car like this to drive slow.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yep."

"Just wondering, but…what does a person have to do to get you to let them drive this car?"

Dean sort of freezes, tensing up in his seat. Both hands move to the wheel almost protectively.

"My car?" he asks.

"Yeah." I nod, amused at how much the question seems to have unsettled him. It's fairly obvious he's pretty attached to it.

"Well…" Dean begins slowly, careful with his words, "I'd have to trust you with my life. Or maybe you'd have to save my life a few times. And be a really good driver. And…"

"Okay, I got it, not a chance in hell." I save him any further discomfort. I make sure to smile while I say it so he won't think I'm upset or anything, "But it's a really nice car."

"I know." Dean says, his grin back.

He pulls into the parking lot and lets the engine idle for a moment before shutting it off, almost as if he's relishing in the sounds of his precious car. I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes. Guys and their cars. I've never really understood it. I've never really cared about cars, myself, but I have to admit, if I was going to be crazy about a car, it would be Dean's. Even I can't deny that the Impala is just cool.

I get out of the car and notice my own vehicle pulling up. I feel like I'm betraying the poor little Mercury, but it really can't compete. In fact, even the noises its engine is making are pathetic and, frankly, a little disturbing in comparison. I frown as I wonder yet again if I should give up on it and try to find myself another car. Then, I think of my income and remind myself that I can't afford one. Besides, I'm attached to the green Mercury and it hasn't really ever let me down before. Well, besides that time it stalled on the freeway. And the time the air conditioning broke in the summer in Phoenix. And when the windshield wipers froze up in Seattle. Well, I'm still attached to the damn car regardless.

I meet Sam as he climbs out of the driver door, "Can I have my keys, please?"

Sam wordlessly drops them into my hand.

"Thanks." I say before moving around to the passenger side, unlocking the door and fishing out my laptop. Sam's looking at me curiously, "Figured I'd start on my article."

"Cool." Sam says, brightening a little bit, "Maybe I can help?"

"Sure." I agree, happy to have a fresh perspective, "Does that mean it's okay for me to hang out with you guys until we leave?"

"'Course." Sam says immediately, looking a little surprised that I even asked, "Come on."

I follow Sam, noting to myself that he seems a little better than when we left the diner. I wonder what went through his head on the drive over.

Dean's already opened the motel room door to the boys' room, leaving it open behind him for Sam. When I enter, I notice Dean sprawled out on top of his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

"Asleep already?" I ask.

He smiles and opens one eye, patting the bed next to him, "Waiting for you, babe."

"Yeah, right." I agree sarcastically with a smile.

I drop onto Sam's bed after a quick search for loose springs. The boys seemed to have gotten a better room than me. I pull my legs up, crossing them in front of me and place my laptop on top of them. I open it up and turn it on. Sam takes a seat next to me, watching my computer screen as my desktop loads. I quickly open a word document so that he won't have too much time to inspect the wallpaper of one of my dorkier favorite TV shows.

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?" I muse out loud as I begin to type quickly about the reports of the disappearances and the rumors about the town that brought both me and the Winchester boys out to this place. The feeling of Sam reading over my shoulder as I type is a little disconcerting, but I can ignore it. I continue to type, moving on to a description of the ghost town that is as elaborate as possible, hopefully communicating the major league creepiness of Fort Tucker.

"You can't do that." Sam pipes up.

I frown, pausing in mid-sentence, "What?"

"You can't use poltergeist as a synonym for ghost. They're different." Sam points out with annoying accuracy.

"I know that." I grumble, "But how many other ways can I possible say ghost town?"

The wheels almost visibly turn as Sam thinks about that problem. Finally, he shrugs, smiling apologetically. I feel somewhat satisfied that he can't think of anything else either. Sometimes being a little repetitive is unavoidable in this line of work. Synonyms for the paranormal are a little scanty. Especially when you're being technical. I backspace and take out poltergeist, changing it to specter. Sam still had a point.

I relax and feel myself settling into "journalist mode." My fingers tapping on the keys becomes almost rhythmic as I get caught up in writing. I can't do too much with the story just yet since we have yet to discover or face much, but I can at least communicate the journey to this point and introduce the two new players in this ghost hunt. Sam remains quiet next to me until I run out of things to say. My fingers continue to run over the keys as my mind reviews the activity of the past couple days, searching my brain for anything I may have neglected. Finally, I give up and turn to look at Sam.

"Well, what do you think so far?" I wonder.

I always love constructive feedback and Sam seems like a good source for such.

"It's really good. You're a great writer, Lindy." Sam says, looking impressed.

I feel myself redden a little bit at the praise. I look back down at my computer and quietly reply, "Thanks. I'd like to know what kind of readings Dean got on the EMF, though. And if you want to add anything…"

My voice trails off as my eyes find the clock on the bottom of my screen. More time has passed than I'd realized.

"How much longer do you think, Sam?" I ask.

Sam looks down at his watch, then gets up and draws the curtain back from the window to look outside. I look past him to see the sun hanging low in the sky, the radiant colors of sunset beginning to fill the space around it.

"Let's get Dean up." he says, looking back at me, "We should go."