The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Page count: 7

It had been a few days since they'd left the Cambridge apartment behind, and the Winchesters were officially back in the groove.

The first hunt Bobby sent them on had been — in Dean's eloquent words — "a simple salt-and-burn, sweetheart."

It took longer to drive there than it did to torch the bones. They didn't even bother checking into a motel — just crashed in the Impala for a few hours before hitting the road again.

Now, they were deep into their second case, one with far more moving pieces. Three towns affected. Weird, inconsistent signs. Nothing lining up neatly. Sam was investigating in Lewistown while Dean and Hermione took Baby three hours south to Allentown to chase down the next lead.

They were halfway there.

The windows were down. The sky was clear. Baby purred along the highway like she knew she was in her natural habitat again.

Hermione had her feet propped in Dean's lap, back against the passenger door, curls wild in the wind.

And both of them were absolutely butchering the radio.

"LIFE IS A HIGHWAY, I WANNA RIDE IT ALL NIGHT LOOOONG! IF YOU'RE GOING MY WAY—"

They were loud. They were off-key. And if Sam had been there, he would've been suffering.

But Sam wasn't there.

So they howled the lyrics to the world like two gremlins set loose.

Hermione dissolved into laughter midway through a verse, head thunking back against the window, chest shaking. Dean turned the radio down just enough to hear her laugh properly.

She was flushed, eyes bright, mouth split in a wide grin — carefree in a way she rarely got to be.

Dean watched her, then looked back at the road, then looked back at her again like he couldn't help himself.

"What?" she asked through a smile.

Dean shrugged, all casual charm. "This is the life."

She hummed and adjusted herself in the seat, stretching her toes across his thigh like she owned him. Which she did.

"I've got my beautiful wife, the Impala, and the open road," he said with a grin that was pure Dean Winchester: smug, soft, and full of absolute heart.

Hermione's smirk turned wicked. "Do you want some crackers to go with that cheese?"

He snorted. "How do you relate everything to food?"

"It's my hidden talent. And if Sam heard you say that, you'd never hear the end of it."

"Which is why I said it now," Dean muttered. "And if you tell him, I'll—"

"You'll what?" she taunted.

Dean lifted his chin, smug and dangerous. "I'll hide your banoffee muffins."

Hermione gasped dramatically. "You play dirty, Winchester."

"It's a family trait," he said proudly.

"But you do realise," she drawled, "that I can summon them with magic? You could hide them inside a warded safe beneath a mountain, and those muffins would still be in my hands within ten seconds."

"I hate magic," he grumbled.

"No, you don't," she said, tapping the tip of her foot against his thigh. "You think true magic is awesome. Not the cheap knock-off version Hell spits out."