𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛[𝙳.𝚆]

042

"You lived across the street from us and you didn't say anything?" Sam asks, surprised and slightly angry. We've just stopped at a gas station to fill up the car after I told Sam what I had learned while we were on the road. Sam paces back and forth, I lean on the Impala, and Dean pumps gas into the car.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on. I'm just as surprised as you. I had literally just found out as soon as we got there. It just...hit me."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that." I mock. "And why aren't you grilling Dean about it? He remembers too." I point over at him.

"Because you're the one that's been keeping the most secrets." He spits. I gape at him.

"I have not." I defend childishly. Sam gives me a look. "Trust me, I would've told you that Dean was apparently my best friend since birth if I had known...God, even saying that out loud is so weird." I scrunch my nose.

"I'm right here you know." Dean speaks up. I turn my head to look at him.

"Well, isn't it?!"

"I just can't believe it. Jennifer Cerise Davis lived across the street from my house. What are the odds?" Sam scoffs in shock.

"Your middle name is Cerise?" Dean asks. I nod my head.

"Yeah. I thought I told you that?" He shakes his head, squinting his eyes from the sun beating down on us. I shrug.

"Well, now you know. Anyways, now that we're all on the same page, can we please get back to what's going on in your old house?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I guess." Sam sighs.

"We've got to think about this like it was just another case-"

"It's just—what are the odds that you run into my dad as a hunter, then end up running into me at Stanford, too then come and find out that you lived across from us all those years ago?" Sam rants, cutting me off.

"Sam!" I glare at him.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just hard to process."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to process that you're basically psychic but you don't see me complaining about it." I grumble. That shuts him up, and for a second I feel bad, but it allows me to continue speaking on the main problem at hand."Now like I was saying, we've got to treat this like any other case if we want to know what's going on here. You know, go through the same motions. What's the first thing we always do?" I ask them expectantly. Sam exhales loudly and moves to put his hands on top of the Impala.

"We'd try to figure out what we were dealing with. We'd dig into the history of the house."

"Right, except we already know what has happened there." I add, moving to stand next to Dean. I pull out the gas pump when I hear it click and go to put it back in it's slot.

"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you guys actually remember?" Sam asks. I look over at him and frown. I don't remember much. Like most of the memories that keep flooding in, it's in fragments, bits and pieces. I look over at Dean to see him already looking at me.

"'Bout that night, you mean?" Dean clarifies, looking away from me.

"Yeah." Sam says. I stand next to Dean once again and observe his side profile as he remembers that night.

"Not much. I remember the fire...the heat." He pauses, clearly thinking about it but not trying to show any emotion.

Typical Dean.