A/N: I played more with the idea of Sam having been driven crazy by what has happened to him...maybe not crazy. There's definitely more of a panicked, lost side to him. Let me know what you think!

The barista's starting to stare. I groan. Time to give up on the charade. I grab Cameron's arm roughly, pulling her back out of the shop.

"Okay." I growl. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean would know how to sweet talk his way out of this, but all I can think of is some lame comment about romance that probably won't work.

She turns on the girl lashes, blinking furiously at me as she starts to talk. "Just a curious girl who wants to know what you're really up to. So...what are you up to?"

We're playing each other. Con on con. Liars.

I rake through my options.

Do I play the insanity card?

I've been too logical and precise to play the insane card at this point.

Romance is out.

Romance is always out; I'm not the player my brother is.

I wish that the fake-backup that I made a fake-call to would fake-get here already. I'm drowning here.

"You...you wouldn't believe me if I told you." I finally stutter. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to go now. Just forget about me. For your own sake."

She grabs my arm firmly and pulls at me to turn me back around.

"Hold on a second. You just tried to convince me that you're with the FBI, and now you want me to act like nothing happened?"

Indignation. Noun. Anger or annoyance provoked by what is perceived as unfair treatment.

"Wait. No." I'm calming down. I hold my hand to my forehead, beating back the raging headache that this is causing. I take a few breaths to try to collect my thoughts. "You're...you're smart. And I..." I gesture wildly. "I'm completely alone, trying to figure this out."

Dean.

Kevin.

Bobby.

Amelia.

They're all gone.

I run my hands through my hair. "Cameron, I know this is crazy. But I've been jumping out on a limb just talking to you. Why not jump out a little further?" I grab her arms and bend down, staring her right in the eye. "Do you want to help me solve this murder? I'm not FBI. I'm just a crazy man who needs help. A lot of help."

I sound like a really, really bad soap. This is it. This is all I've got left.

She raises an eyebrow, but she's not running. That's got to be a good sign. She thinks for a moment, letting me keep her arms secured in mine.

I pull away slowly, resignedly.

Finally she sighs, sticking her hands in the pockets of her dark jeans as she shrugs.

"Why not. I've got nothing better to do." She stares up at me, contemplating me studiously.

Studious. Adjective. Done deliberately or with a purpose in mind.

I meet her gaze. Our drastic height difference makes me feel like I'm living in a different atmospheric level altogether, but I'm kind of used to it. The weird thing is how unintimidated she is. Her personality is almost making me feel like she's taller than I am.

I grope for a plan. She seems to be the boss now, but I want to keep as much control of the situation as I can.

"Okay. Can you meet me back here tomorrow at 2?"

She nods. "I can do that."

My paranoia kicks in and I edge her away from the coffee shop. "Okay. Good. Make sure you're not followed home."

She smirks. "Will do."

"Okay. Uh...bye." I turn to head down the street and go around the corner.

It's going to be a long walk back to the motel.