So, just for background info, John Wincester had died two months ago. I'm not really following the plot of Supernatural, but he did die. I hope you enjoy! Please review, and I do not own Sam, Dean, or John.

So the interviews were interesting. The men were all in relationships with the women who had died, but they all had falling outs exactly a week before the women were murdered. They said the fight had been big, and ended the relationship, but the girl called them back the next day, claiming to have forgotten the whole thing. Then, the next day, she was missing, and they couldn't find them until she ended up at her house, dead with her brain cut out of her head. The mean were miserable, claiming that they women were their "true loves," which I might have believed before Drew and I broke up, but now it just seemed ridiculous.

Each one of the three men were baffled, but not as much as we were. It was obviously a vengeful spirit, but why these specific methods and motives?

I yawned as I passed the threshold into our motel room. It was only 9:00, but I was emotionally drained from the day.

"I calling it a night." I said to my brothers, who were sitting at the small table, looking over the case, beers in hand.

"Oh, no way your getting away so easily. Come sit your ass down and explain yourself" Dean swung another chair to the table, looking at me expectantly.

"Explain what?" I eyes the chair hesitantly, not sitting down.

"Hanna, you haven't been acting... well, normal lately. First, you have a break down and won't tell us what it was about. Then you don't remember it, but later you say something about Drew, and you have forgotten everything in the past week."

"Okay, maybe my memories a bit spotty, but I was hung-over, so cut me some slack. I was probably just drunk crying last night, and Drew-"I didn't want to get into details, "We broke up, that's it, so quit your worrying."

"Did he hurt you? What happened?" Dean stood up, as if he was going to jump into the Impala and go bash Drew over the head with his rifle.

"Dean, I'm fine! Calm yourself, Jesus. The breakup was-" Damn, I was gonna be in the clear if my voice didn't wobble slightly. "It was mutual. Not his fault, so don't go hunting him down, it's not worth it." Shit, shit, shit. They definitely heard my voice crack that time. I turned around heading to my room.

Sam grabbed my arm and spun me around, but I didn't feel like dealing with them any more. I flipped him onto his back on the granite floors and he lay there in a daze.

"Dad would be so embarrassed for you right now," I taunted, feeling a little better after defeating my big brother. "Where is he, anyway? Would he know anything about this case?"

Sam and Dean stared at me, their mouths open in shock. I was confused; Dad usually helped us with these kinds of cases, so why wouldn't we ask for his help?

"Hanna Winchester, is that a joke? Because if it is, it's not funny. What's wrong with you?" Dean stood up, looking at me with his furious expression that he saved for rare occasions.

"What, why wouldn't we ask him for help? We can't get anywhere ourselves, so he might know something." I looked back at Sam, who had made his way up off of the ground to take the same expression as Dean.

"Yeah, okay Hanna, he might, so let's go call the dead up, and see if he wants to help us with this." Dean said sarcastically, turning his back on me and taking a swig of his beer.

I was taken aback. Why would Dean joke about Dad being dead? And why did Sam seem to be playing along? My memory was bad right now, but surely I couldn't forget something like that.

"Hanna, are you serious? Do you not remember?" I shook my head at Sam, who was, at first, angry, but his expression quickly turned to very concerned. "Dean, she doesn't remember, what is going on?" Dean turned around, taking two quick strides and putting his hand under my chin and tilting my head up towards him.

"What the hell-" I started to say but he shushed me, looking at something right above my eyes. I was startled and fell silent, which gave my brain time for Dad's death to sink into my thoughts. I couldn't believe I didn't remember. It was one thing to forget a case, we had been on hundreds of them. But Dad, my only living relative besides my brothers. Sure, he was harsh, but I needed an adult figure in my life to look up to, and I had always been him. The dreaded tears began to flow down my face, mostly for his death, but also for myself. I was scared as hell, and that was saying something since I was a hunter. This was not normal, even for my standards.

The tears kept coming, and Dean slowly took his hand from under my chin and turned to Sam, who had been watching Dean in confusion. They were talking in quick, urgent voices, but I didn't pay attention to what they were saying. I stumbled to the couch, stopping at the counter to grab the whiskey. I wanted to drown all of this out, forget it until everything was normal again, or as normal as my life was. I slumped onto the couch, taking the cap off the bottle and lifting it to my lips.

"Han, stop. You need to stay sober for this." Sam sat on the couch, swiping the bottle from my shaking hands. I tried in vain to win it back, but soon abandoned my efforts and sat with my hands limply in my lap, the river still silently streaming down my face.

"Hanna, you need to answer me honestly okay? We won't get mad, I promise." Dean sat down on the other side of me. "Is Drew- was Drew your true love?" I looked up at him, shocked by the question. There was no way he would have known that, it was my secret from my brothers, one of the very few secrets I only shared with myself. And Drew, of course.

I didn't say anything, but nodded slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dean and Sam exchange looks of worry. I wondered why Dean would ask me such a stupid question that was completely irrelevant. It was completely out of the blue, and super chick-flicky. I racked my brain for a reason; it gave me something to think about besides Dad.

Then, I got it, and I was as scared as was the night Mom died. I looked up at my brothers, who were as tense as a mouse trap, baited and ready. "I'm the next victim," I whispered, and the stupid tears kept on coming.