New chapter! Hooray! Sorry its so short and doubly sorry not much happens... exposition is a bitch...
Enjoy! xo Taco Tilly

The diner in which Sam had first found Lyla seemed like a logical place to begin their search and so by 10am the next morning, the Winchester brothers had it staked out. Two stacks of pancakes, one slice of cherry pie and multiple cups of coffee later, it became clear that their main lead had already gone cold.

"Ok..." Dean said slowly, pushing aside his now licked clean pie dish "let me just float this idea by you one more time, Sammy"

"I didn't imagine it Dean" Sam answered curtly, clutching his coffee cup through whitened knuckles. They had been here for more than an hour with still no sign of Lyla.

"Well, it's obviously either her day off or she has a later shift so shall we move ahead to the next step in this thrilling investigation?" Dean asked dryly

"What's that?" Sam asked, lifting his head hopefully.

"We ask somebody" Dean said slowly, as if talking to a child. Squeezing himself over the tattered, red vinyl seat, he strolled casually over to the counter and leant close to the blonde from yesterday with a winning smile. After a few giggles and hair tosses, she obviously came through with information, as Sam watched Dean mime his usual escape strategy. Walking back over with a grin, Dean stopped in front of Sam and jangled the car keys in his face.

"We're going on a road trip, Sammy!"

...

Lyla threw the tattered tennis ball far into the trees and smiled as Bob raced off with a sounding bark of excitement. Clutching her cup of herbal tea, closer to her chest, she closed her eyes and allowed the sun to soak into her skin. It had been a long, long time since she had simply enjoyed a lazy morning. Sitting on the front step of her porch, she thought once again of how lucky she was that Fran had found her. Lyla remembered it like it was yesterday. Walking the streets, blackened and blue from her father's latest burst of anger and trying as hard as she could not to fall to pieces. Her mother had died when she a baby leaving her in the less than capable hands of her father, Jimmy, a disgraced war veteran who was slowly drinking himself to death. She was sixteen, frightened and alone. The only thing that kept Lyla going was the knowledge that in only two years she would be able to leave this small town and start a new life for herself out in the world. She worked part time at another diner, a dimly lit, dirty place several towns over that she had not returned to since her departure.

It was there that she had first met Fran. She had been making the rounds with coffee when she had come across the burst of colour and sound that was Francis Newman. Holding her cup up to Lyla with a delicately aged hand clinking with various rings, she smiled with such a sudden outburst of welcoming warmth that Lyla couldn't help but drink in.

"Pretty necklace" Fran had said to her companionably, as Lyla's shaky hands made messy work of the coffee. Lyla fingered the charm round her neck in just the same fashion she had done seven years as the memory flooded back to her. It had been her mother's; in fact it was all that she had left of the woman who had brought her into this world. A silver necklace carrying a strange symbol that looked like something like a treble clef or the number eight. Lyla still to this day had no idea what it was supposed to mean (perhaps it was simply a meaningless curving of metal) but she had never taken it off since finding it as a child in a chest of drawers in the attic of her house. She liked to think that wearing it brought her closer to the mother she never knew and it acted as a constant comfort.

Lyla smiled ruefully as she recalled how the mousy sixteen year old version of herself had mumbled a reply of "thanks" to Fran's compliment before scurrying off to other tables. She had never been shown random acts of kindness before this time, and it left her disorientated.

Fran stayed long after she had finished her lunch, smiling pleasantly at Lyla as she continued her work around the diner. She made no attempts to speak to her, simply nodding her head when Lyla returned every twenty minutes or so to offer her more coffee. It wasn't until closing time, when Lyla was buttoning her flimsy coat up that Fran spoke at all to her.

"That looks like it stings a bit" She murmured, gesturing to the most recent bruise on Lyla's neck. Lyla whipped around, eyes wide. As much as she hated her home situation she did not want this kind woman involving herself. Jimmy never really appreciated constructive criticism when it came to his parenting tactics and it was usually Lyla who suffered his wrath after visits of any kind from concerned third parties.

"Got hit by a rouge baseball" she had responded, defiantly lifting her chin.

"Play a lot of baseball do ya?" Fran asked to no response.

"It don't have to be like this" she had added more quietly, safe from the loud chatter of the diner. It was comments like this that were constant torture to Lyla. Of course it didn't have to be like this, but that was the way it was and any attempts to suggest otherwise, meant little to her.

"I've got a friend whose looking for some help in his diner a little ways from here. Pays good money upfront. Would be enough for someone to make a fresh start, if they wanted to..." Fran said with a knowing smile. Lyla looked up at her suspiciously. Why was she offering her this? What did she know about her?

"Something worth thinking about..." Fran trailed off, placing a piece of paper in Lyla's hand before leaving the diner with the friendly clang of the bell. The paper had held a phone number. A phone number which Lyla had called the next day. A phone call that had saved her life.

Within a week, Lyla had booked a bus ticket, packed her few belongings and escaped into the night. Away from her father, away from the town's prying eyes, away from her life. She moved into Fran's guest cottage where she insisted on paying rent despite the older woman's protests and slowly began to live. A few months later, when she found a dirty, wet puppy digging through their rubbish cans, their family of three was complete.

And it was a family, Lyla thought with a smile as Bob returned, carrying the tennis ball like a trophy. It really was.

Her peace was interrupted as the sound of a rumbling engine and crunching gravel approached the house. Looking wearily out to the road in case it was Deputy Douchebag returning for another go of it, the blood drained from her face as she recognized the car moving towards Lyla at a panic inducing speed. He'd looked for her! And now, he had found her. Should she hide? Pretend not to be home? They would just see that as an invitation to break in, she thought with a frown. What to do, what to do. Her breathing hitched as she saw them round the corner. Play it cool, she decided quickly. Don't let him know, you know.

Clutching Bob for support, she watched with bated breath as a familiarly gigantic torso emerged from the passenger side. Her visions really hadn't done him justice. His brown daffy hair, warm brown eyes, tanned, toned body... he was every girl's dream. Sam's eyes scanned his surroundings until they locked in on her seated on the steps. He began his approach, setting a steady pace as his brother trailed behind him.

What a cliffhanger! Haha Next chapter to arrive in the next couple of days, scout's honour! Please, please review! Reviews warm this cold, cold heart of mine (aka give me an incentive to continue writing) I stress again, this story is gonna get pretty epic if you give it a chance... so much angsty romance and funny Bob/Dean antics ahead!