AN: Some more back story, some more tension, all it's missing is some lovely feedback from you all to let me know I'm going in the right direction. :)

Do You Recall

VII: When You're Alone (It Ain't Easy)

Three hours later, and they still hadn't found anything. When Dean walked back through the door and saw their faces, he guessed as much, but still asked anyway.

"We can't find any reason why anything supernatural would be going on in this town," said Sam.

"Well ya know, you'd think a Stanford education and a high school hook up rate of 0.0 would produce better results than that," Dean teased.

"Hilarious," Sam said with a very much fake smile.

"You're just looking in the wrong places, pal." Dean reached into his jacket.

He seems to be in a better mood, thought Elena with a raised brow.

"And what are the right places, Dean?" Sam asked.

"The motel pamphlet rack." Dean set a brochure down in front of Sam on the coffee table. "Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison."

"And?" Elena asked.

"Keep reading," said Dean, and the two looked down at it again. A headline jumped out at them, and they looked up Dean with similar grins.

"You're kidding," said Sam.

Dean smiled.

"We're not watching Terminator again."

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean wheedled.

"No! Or 300, or any of the Batman movies."

"Come on, you love Batman!"

"Yeah, Dean. But we've seen them fifty times. Each."

"I'm kind of tired of those kinds of movies too," said Elena.

"Well, I'll watch whatever you put on," said Bobby. "So the three of ya, make a decision."

"Fine," Dean said eventually. "What about something funny?"

"Like what?" Elena asked. "Back to the Future?"

"No," Sam groaned as he flipped through the DVD collection. Suddenly his face lit up. "Here, what about Tommy Boy?"

Elena smiled.

"I like that movie," she said.

"Well, I've never seen it," Dean admitted. "So I guess that's all right then. Pop it in, Sammy."

It started off kind of weak, but it was a lot better than he thought it would be. He kind of felt bad for Tommy with all the fat jokes Richard was throwing his way, but he really couldn't stop laughing. But a little piece of him probably withered and died when the moron managed to bend the car door backwards, making it fall off. It only digressed from there.

He sort of wanted to hit the fast forward button when the fucking deer tore through every scrap of interior and broke every mirror in the car, so much that it tore a hole in the roof and climbed out. To his surprise, he heard three voices laughing over the sound of his sympathetic hiss. Dean looked over and saw Elena and Sam nearly doubled over laughing. He rolled his eyes while fighting a smile.

Thomas Edison's "Spirit Phone," his final invention, which he was convinced could be used to communicate with the dead. It was old enough to have been built around the time the phone number was around, but it gave off no EMF signal, nor did it explain why it would be working now all of a sudden.

"Still, it's the best answer we got," said Dean. "…So maybe it is Dad."

Elena didn't think he would take it well if she voiced her doubts, so she stayed quiet about it. By the time they got to the motel, she was too tired to remember, until the next day, when she and Sam had to come back with bad news. The girl from the day before, Lanie, had been pretty shaken up last night with her mom trying to coerce her into doing something Lanie would regret.

"That sucks," Dean agreed, though he was a bit distracted with trying to narrow down the lead John had apparently given him. About a way to break out of his deal by finding the demon that held the contract. Elena wanted to believe it. She did. But it sounded too good to be true.

The way Sam was reacting told her he was thinking along the same lines, even when it came down to checking out the exorcism that could, in theory, kill a demon. They'd called Bobby and asked, and the hunter verified that it was an exorcism…just nothing to prove that it could kill a demon.

"There's no evidence it can't," Dean pointed out.

"Dean, come on, man—"

"As far as I can see the only one of us that has actually been to hell, is Dad. Think the man could've picked up a couple tricks down there?" said Dean. "Like which exorcisms work?"

"Look, maybe it does, I hope it does too, but we just gotta be sure," Sam tried to placate him, but Dean wasn't having it.

"Why aren't we sure?" he pressed.

"Because we don't know what's going on around here, Dean," said Sam, and Elena could see the man was coming close to his last nerve. "Some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her mind—"

"Aw man, a couple of civvies are freaked out by some ghosts. Newsflash, Sam, people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!"

"But Dean," Elena eased in, "We don't even know if they are ghosts yet."

Dean's gaze slid over to her, surprise in his eyes as his brows rose.

"Oh, so you're taking his side then. Perfect."

"I'm just saying—"

"Oh no, I understand. Don't bother explaining," Dean dismissed angrily, prompting Sam to cut in.

"Did Dad tell you where to find the demon?"

"I'm waiting on the call!"

Sam nodded tiredly. He discreetly glanced at Elena, who looked at her watch. It reminded him of their scheduled visit in half an hour.

"I told Lanie I'd stop by," said Sam. "Elena too." Dean stared blankly as Sam turned away.

"Oh, no, go ahead and hang out with Jailbait," Dean mocked. "Just watch out for Chris Hansen."

Sam turned back around with a "really?" expression.

"I'll just be here, trying to save my life." His eyes flicked to Elena, and they made her feel the pinprick of guilt that snuck its way under her skin. She frowned at him, but after that he ignored her and continued to give Sam the third degree. His brother only turned toward the door again, until his brother's voice stopped him.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" Dean said, pure frustration, and maybe a little hurt, in his voice. "I mean for months we've been trying to break this demon deal, now Dad's about to give us the freakin' address and you can't accept it? The man is dead and you're still butting heads with the guy!"

"That's not what this is about," Sam said, trying everything in his power to be calm, but the angrier his brother got, the more the whole situation ate at him.

"Then what is it?"

"We've got no hard proof here, Dean! After everything, you're still going on blind faith!"

"Yeah, well, maybe. Maybe that's all I got left, okay?"

Elena saw the moment where Sam deflated, and there was a part of her that wanted to cry.

"Please, just please don't go anywhere until we get back. Okay, Dean?" He nodded, but Elena hardly doubted he meant it.

"I don't have to come," she said quietly to Sam when he walked to the door.

"No," said Dean, waving a hand dismissively. "You promised you would go? Go. I don't need a fucking babysitter."

Her brows furrowed a bit as she frowned at him, biting the inside of her lip a little, but he clearly didn't want her company.

"You know that's not what I meant," she said, but he ignored her. So she nodded and walked out the door with Sam right behind her.

"Have you told your father about any of this?" Sam asked.

"And bother him at work?" said Lanie. "No. He wouldn't believe me anyway, just chuck me into therapy."

"So what did your mother say?"

"…That she wanted to see me." She crossed her arms. "So at first, I thought I was supposed to go to the cemetery."

"Did you?" asked Elena.

"Nothing happened…but then, she started telling me to do other things," said Lanie, her voice beginning to quiver.

"What sort of things?" Sam asked.

"Bad things." Tears swam in the girl's eyes, and Elena looked up at Sam with sympathy toward her. Sam didn't want to ask, but he needed to know.

"Lanie, you have to tell me what happened."

"My mom told me to go to my dad's medicine cabinet and take all his sleeping pills!" she exclaimed, as tears slid down her cheeks. "All of them!"

"She wanted you to kill yourself?" Elena asked incredulously. Lanie pressed her hands to her mouth and nodded.

"Why would my mom want me to do that?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, shaking his head. His gaze drifted to the world outside the window as his brain scrambled for the answer.

"What, just so I could 'come to her?'"

Something clicked.

"What did you say?"

"She said she wanted me to come to her."

"Yeah, but—but how did she say it?"

"'Come to me,' like a million times!"

It donned on both hunters with chilling clarity.

"Lanie…that's not your mother."

Sam and Elena rushed to secure the house with instructions to Lanie not to answer any phones. They were on their way to the door when Lanie's voice stopped them.

"Where's Simon?"

"Who's Simon?" asked Elena.

"My little brother…" Lanie glanced out the window and gasped. Sam rushed over and swore under his breath, immediately taking off out the door. The boy was about to cross the street while several cars rushed by in afternoon traffic. Elena and Lanie ran after him, and they caught up with him just in time for Sam to pull the boy out of the road before a truck could run him over.

Lanie, hysterical by now, gathered Simon in her arms and kissed the top of his head. While she asked if he was all right, Sam and Elena looked at one another gravely.

"Dean, it's not Dad," Sam said over the phone, and the volume was so loud that even Elena could hear in the passenger seat.

"Then what is it?"

"It's a crocotta."

"'S that a sandwich?"

"It's a scavenger, whispers 'Come to me' as your loved ones, lures you into the dark and swallows your soul."

"…Crocotta, right. Damn it, that makes sense."

"Dean, look. I'd sorry, man. I know—"

"Hey, don't these things live in filth?"

"Yeah."

"Sam, the flies at the phone company."

Sam and Elena looked to one another in comprehension.

Stewie.

But as it turned out, it wasn't their favorite porn-watching, wisecracking friend. It was the manager, "Clark." Poor Stewie didn't have a chance, and Sam felt guilty when the creature stabbed him through the heart, right in front of them, and ate his soul. Strapped to their chairs, they couldn't move to help him. Sam looked to his left and saw Elena was still out cold with a bruise over her brow.

"My last call with Dean…that was you," said Sam. "You led us here." Clark looked down at him as if he'd said something precious.

"Some calls I make, some calls I take, but you gotta admit," he said, pointing a finger. "I had you going for awhile. All that Edison phone crap."

Clark smirked and went over to a metal box along the wall with buttons that glowed red. With his touch they began blinking, and the machine hummed with power.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked as a hollow feeling entered his stomach.

"I'm killing your brother." Then he paused. "Or maybe I'm killing another guy…we'll just have to see how it goes."

He made the call, impersonating a little girl that knew who her murderer was. He was waiting at the man's house, right now, and that made Sam's blood boil.

"You know, impersonating Dean is one thing," he said when the crocotta stepped away from the box and yanked the knife out of Stewie's corpse. "But impersonating my dad? That's one hell of a trick."

"Once I made out that you three were hunters, it was easy," Clark said, and pushed Stewie away, started stepping closer and closer to Sam with the bloody knife in hand. "Found Dean's number. Then your number. Then your father's numbers. And emails. And voicemails. Everything. You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn't. You'll be surprised just how much some of your stuff is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked."

Sam kept the thing talking while he loosened the wires binding his wrists together so painfully. All the while he hoped and prayed to whatever was listening that Dean didn't kill that guy, or get himself killed.

"You're all so connected…but you've never been so alone."

While Clark continued monologuing, Sam heard Elena stir. He didn't chance glancing over at her until Clark noticed with a sinister smile.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll get to her after—" Sam didn't give the creature a chance to finish and tackled it like a linebacker, vaulting out of his chair and bringing Clark to the ground. Both of them scrambled for the knife that had clattered to the floor.

"SAM!" he heard Elena shout, but he didn't have time to acknowledge her as he was thrown across the room, into the wall. When Clark tried to stab him, Sam used his longer reach and pinned the man against the desk. A stray punch had Sam reeling back, but he corrected his footing and blocked what would have been a blade to the eye.

All the while Elena tried to wiggle out of her bonds, even as the wire cut into flesh deeper and deeper. She felt blood dribbling down her wrists and palms, but she continued to loosen the knots.

Then she heard a squelching sound.

Her eyes snapped up in alarm, but it faded as she saw Sam standing over Clark, who was impaled through the back of the throat by a hanging key hook. Blood ran down the crocotta's chin in rivulets, and she grimaced.

"You okay?" Elena asked, when Sam came over to help untie the wires. His cheek was red and swelling.

"Yeah. Are you?" Sam removed the wires from her wrists and he saw her wince.

"Yeah. Got a massive headache though."

"We'll get patched up after we find Dean."

Dean answered his phone when Sam called and filled him in on what happened. No, he hadn't killed the man who he'd thought was the demon. With "A motherfucking crocotta, why didn't I think of that," and a "You okay?" and they were back to equilibrium.

Sam and Elena entered the motel room moving slower than usual. Dean saw Sam through the bathroom mirror as he pressed a warm towel to a cut on the edge of his brow.

"I see they improved your face."

Sam's brows rose slightly.

"Right back atcha."

Dean looked at himself again and nodded in agreement. He tossed the towel into the sink and turned around, taking in the sight of them. He glanced at Elena and frowned.

"There's Advil in my bag." His gaze traveled down to her hands that were still bloody. "You should get cleaned up."

Her eyes regarded him for a moment. Eventually, the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"Thanks," she said, and brushed past him. She figured she would let the brothers talk, anyway. Elena spent time in the shower just cleaning off all the gunk of being knocked out and half dragged on the floor, all the blood and grime swirling to the bottom of the shower and disappearing down the drain. She took care when she got out and bandaged her wrists, and though she didn't mean to, she could hear conversation from the room.

"There's nothing wrong with having hope, Dean."

"Nah, hope doesn't get you jack squat…I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can't expect anyone to, ya know?"

Elena rested her forehead against the bathroom door. She listened to his voice with sadness. It was a far cry from the cocky teenager she used to know.

"The only one who can get me out of this is me."

"…And me," said Sam.

"…'And me?'" Dean's tone was incredulous.

"What?"

"Deep revelation, having a real moment here and that's what you come back with…'And me?'"

"…You want a poem?"

"Moment's gone."

Elena smiled and figured that was a good a time as any to come out. She dropped her used clothes in her bag and walked past Dean to get to his.

"Whoa, whoa, where you going with that?"

"You said I could have some Advil."

"Oh…yeah. It's in the side pocket."

"Sam, I found a first aid kit in the bathroom. You can wrap your wrists," said Elena. Sam nodded.

"Thanks. That and a shower actually does sound good right now."

He got up and grabbed a change of clothes before heading in there, shutting the door behind him. Elena took advantage of his absence and sat on his bed after popping the pills in her mouth, and took a sip from a water bottle.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean asked her. He didn't remember her buying water when they stopped at that Seven Eleven.

"Your bag." A rare find of water instead of booze.

"Right." He shook his head. It really wasn't worth the argument, considering he stole Twix and Snickers from her "secret" stash of chocolate bars in her duffel on a semi-regular basis.

Dean turned on the TV and popped open a beer.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked.

"Stopped on the way back and bought a case." And there was the more likely purchase.

"Right."

Both of them occasionally sipped as they watched a soccer game. One team scored a goal and Dean nodded, pumping a fist. She didn't know if he was rooting for a team or was just excited to see someone score after five minutes of nothing. But him raising his arm made her catch a whiff of something.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah."

"You stink." He took a long swig of beer.

"…That's just too bad, ain't it."

It wasn't long before Sam came out, patched up and looking more refreshed, and sat alongside Elena while animatedly watching the game. Eventually they'd call in a night and turn in, but for now, the moment was a little bit too peaceful to pass up.

Elena woke up on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. There was an ache in her back and a groan out of her mouth before she'd even realized what had happened. Then a lamp was on, chasing the darkness into the far corners of the room, and feet thudded heavily on the carpet until she was met with an alarmed and disheveled Dean. He still looked half asleep and she felt guilty for waking him up unnecessarily.

"Fuck…you okay?"

"She all right?" she heard Sam sleepily mumble.

She took the hand he offered and allowed him to grab the blankets her legs were tangled in while she seated herself back on the cushions. Her skin was cold yet slick with sweat, and she could still feel her heart racing.

"I'm okay, I…" She looked at her mussed surroundings and shrugged, "Guess I had a bad dream or something. I'm really sorry I woke you up."

He waved it off, but he was making that Dean look that said he didn't subscribe to bullshit.

"You sure?" he pressed.

"Yeah, Dean. Go back to bed, I'm fine."

Eventually, he begrudgingly returned to the bed and turned off the light. It wasn't long before the sound of him snoring softly reached her. Elena was wide awake now.

"You already feel like an orphan."

She shuddered and rolled over, checked her phone on the table. Only two hours and fifty three minutes left until morning.

Bobby was at a neighbor's house fixing their air conditioning. Sam was downstairs reading. Elena was in her room with the door closed.

Dean could bug his little brother until Sam got mad enough to start hitting him with his book, but that might end like the last time: rearranging Bobby's living room and denting Dean's forehead.

Or he could chance on Elena. If she wasn't napping, usually she wouldn't be doing much that would provoke bodily harm if he were to interrupt.

He went upstairs.

She allowed him to come in and he found her awake, playing with an ancient-looking record player. Dean had never noticed it before, but that might've been because it'd been camouflaged by Bobby's ancient book collection that continued even on the second floor.

"I brought this from back home. This was my dad's, back in the sixties," she said with her back turned to him. "But the records are mine. Especially this one."

She looked over her shoulder and held up the old vinyl for him to see, then placed it inside the turntable. The record crackled, coming to life as the first strains of music resounded in the small room.

"I know this song," he said. It was vaguely familiar, like it had been on the radio at some point…

"Billy Joel, 'And So it Goes,'" she supplied with a smile. He only saw it when she finally turned around.

Ah…yeah, he actually had no idea what song that was.

"Right."

She smiled knowingly.

"It's all right. It was one of his less appreciated songs." Dean raised a thoughtful brow.

"What makes it so special then?" he asked.

Elena paused, smiling softly as she listened to the simple, gentle melody.

"It's my favorite song," she admitted. "I used to listen to it at least five times a day around the time I first heard it."

"Sounds like when I got Led Zeppelin IV after saving up for a while."

"That's one of the best."

"You'd be right."

"Yeah…my dad and I listen to that one in the car…well, used to be a car."

Dean perked up at that.

"You mean the blue '82 Chevy Camaro in the yard?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I saw it when Sam and I first got here. That car's still got some life left in it."

"It was my mom's car," she confessed quietly. He looked at her for a moment, and gave her a small, but genuine smile.

"All the more reason to fix it up for her."

And that's how Dean, Bobby, Elena, and Sam (after they'd wrangled the book away from him) spent the afternoon. Bobby and Dean replaced the engine while Sam and Elena passed tools and cleaned the interior. Day by day, the car got worked on. New brakes, tires, new paint job, fixed the windows, add a spare tire in the trunk and the Camaro was a thing of beauty. So much so that Bobby hardly recognized the car he'd towed two weeks ago.

They celebrated by going out in the car to the nearest diner, where they almost got kicked out after Dean threatened a guy who came too close to it with triple-scoop of ice cream that was about to topple over on the new paint. Bobby could only shake his head and grab Dean by the back of his jacket before he "got his fool head shot in."

It was late enough by the time they got back that they were surprised to see John Winchester waiting for them in the Impala.

"Hey boys."

"Dad…you're on time," said Dean. He couldn't really believe it, but John was looking at him in slight confusion.

"Yeah, I'm on time. Say your goodbyes and get your stuff."

"…Yes, sir."

It was a long walk back inside. Longer than he thought it would be. It was even longer coming downstairs, where Elena stood leaning against the back of the couch. She'd been waiting for them. The brothers stopped in front of her, the only real sounds coming from where Bobby and John were talking outside.

She offered a semblance of a smile, and Dean returned it the best he could.

"Well, looks like we're out of here…" he said. "Any idea when your dad's coming to get you?"

"In a couple days," she said, glancing down at her shoes. "Maybe I'll see you guys around."

Dean doubted it, but he nodded anyway. Elena looked up just in time to have her arms full of Sam. Her arms came around his shoulders, and as she was only a little taller than him, she was able to hug him to her comfortably.

"We'll keep in touch," he promised, and backed away toward the kitchen with a smile. "I'm gunna grab a water bottle before we go."

Her eyes brightened a bit and slid over to Dean, who watched his brother go with a reserved, fond smile on his face. His eyes met Elena's, and he tucked her close to him with one arm while the other shouldered his duffel.

"Thanks for making these past two weeks not suck," she said with her cheek resting against his chest. He laughed and the sound traveled through her body.

"Glad I was able to entertain you," he remarked dryly, and pulled away with a grin. "Now you've got a car to come meet me when I'm back in South Dakota."

She smiled and shrugged. He saw something hidden in her eyes then, but couldn't quite pin down what it was.

"All you gotta do is call," she said, though she knew neither of them probably would.

"Look, do me a favor and don't try and bullshit me, all right?" Dean's face was frustrated and concerned and Sam was trying to be patient and concerned, but she didn't want to deal with it.

"Look, I—"

"If you say you're fine…one more time," Dean warned, and she quieted.

"Just tell me the truth." The patter of rain outside was all that disrupted the heavy silence.

She sighed.

"So I'm having some trouble sleeping."

"Not five minutes ago, you were screaming like you were dying," Dean said flatly.

"How long have you been having nightmares?" Sam asked more gently. It took her a little while to answer, but with Dean's unyielding stare, she caved.

"Since we left Hill City."

"You could have said something," said Dean. She gave him a long look.

Yeah right, she thought. Yeah, by now Elena could count Sam and Dean as friends, but that didn't mean she was seriously about to spill her guts like a little girl. She was a hunter, and so were they.

He understood, but obviously didn't like it anymore than he liked being startled awake at four in the morning.

"You want to talk about it?" Sam offered. Her closed expression said it all.

"I just need some air." She got up and laced up her boots.

"Want one of us to go with you?" Sam asked tentatively, and as it turned out, that was the wrong thing to say. She looked over her shoulder and glared.

"I don't need my hand held, thanks," she scoffed. "Since when do you two treat me like a fucking five year old?"

Elena grabbed her cell and stuffed it in her pocket before walking out of the motel.

"She didn't take an umbrella," said Sam. Not that they had one.

"Did it look like she cared?" Dean retorted. Sam's sigh was enough to grate on his nerves, because that sigh coupled with that expression said a good part of Sam didn't feel right letting her go out like that. It grated on his nerves because he felt the same way.

He made sure to grab an extra hoodie before going out.

Dean didn't need to go far. Didn't even need the sweatshirt. Elena hadn't left the front of the motel awning, where she leant against a support pole with her arms crossed. She glanced over at him when he came to stand next to her, silently offering her the hoodie. She took it, because it was in the lower fifties outside and with the rain and the wind chill, she was cold.

"Lena—"

"Dean. I'm not doing this now."

"Don't tell me it's not eating at you."

She looked down at the ground, lips pressing into a line. But he knew the signs. He'd been there a year ago, when he got out of the hospital.

"You're angry…and it's there, just under your skin all the time," Dean said. He looked out to the rain-slicked road and watched the downpour of millions of silver bullets hitting the pavement. "Inside's empty. Even if you can laugh it's never the same."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to blink, refused to let them fall.

"It's fucked up."

"I know," he agreed, but then she turned to look at him.

"It's fucked up because it wasn't supposed to happen like that." The tears finally fell and she took a shuddering breath. "It…I…"

Elena sighed and ran a hand over her face and through her hair.

"It's fucked up because I'm still…fucking angry. At him." Her lower lip trembled as she shook her head. She avoided Dean's gaze, not wanting to see the reproach that was surely there. "He'd push me away and push me away, especially after Mom. After everything I…"

She paused, closing her eyes to collect herself.

"If I'd just grilled Vick more the first time, I could've been there to have his back…If he'd told me where he was—or better yet, let me come with him!" she exclaimed, "He'd still be alive."

For those last two years, she'd hated him even as she tried to stay close, stay in touch in case he ever needed someone, ever needed what was left of his family.

She never had the chance to say she was sorry.

"And that…it kills me."

There was a long pause where neither of them spoke. The rain continued to fall, though it began to ease.

"It wasn't fair," Dean said, surprising her. There was no judgment in his expression, only understanding. Only now did he get why she didn't hate him and Sam for not being able to save her dad. She was too busy blaming Jack, but mostly, blaming herself.

She nodded and wiped the tears from her face.

"You don't have to…do this alone, you hear me?" His green eyes bore into hers. "Either way, it ain't easy, but…we've got your back, all right?"

Again, Elena nodded, dabbing at her face with her sleeve.

"Yeah…I hear ya."

He cracked a smile.

"Good. Let's get Sammy and grab some breakfast," he said, and steered her back to the room by her shoulder. "I want me some eggs and bacon."

With some extra hash browns and maybe some toast smothered in butter.

"Hmm, bacon," she hummed in agreement.

"Just don't steal all the ketchup this time."

"I told you a million times, there was only a little bit left!" She strained to look over at him and show with the measure of her fingers just how meager the amount in the bottle had been. "The waitress brought a new one over no problem."

"But then I had to wait, and by then everything was cold," he said. "You can't eat cold eggs!"

Elena sighed.

"If you're that choked up about some ketchup, you're in need of serious therapy," she said as he twisted the key into the lock and opened the door.

"Ha!" he said over his shoulder. "No amount of therapy in the world would cover it, save a straight jacket and a one-way ticket to the Nut House. But hey, as long as there's free cable and pie, sign me up."

She and Sam rolled their eyes.

"You and your goddamn pie," she muttered. He flashed her a grin and grabbed the keys to the Impala.

"You know it."