Longhorn

Chapter 01 | Since the Beginning

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Y/N

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You've been with the boys for... a while.

You were with Dean when he tracked down Sam in Harvard; mainly because you couldn't say no when he appeared on your doorstep, face drunkenly red, blubbering about how his father is gone.

You were there when Sam lost Jessica, comforting him when Dean didn't know how to.

You were there every time they thought they were getting closer to finding John, only to be hundreds of miles farther. You were there when they felt abandoned.

You've been there since the beginning. Since Dean was in high school, jumping from cheerleader to geek. He even tried with you one time, only to be shot down with a loud, thundering laugh to his face.

So, yeah, you've been stuck with these two lumberjacks for a long, long time.

You're sat in the backseat of the Impala, back against the door and your legs stretched out in front of you (shoes off, of course. Dean would lose his shit otherwise). With a book comfortably on your lap, you're sipping on your milkshake Sam bought for you while the boys chat about the case up front.

You're all stopped at a gas station to fill up while they talk.

"Alright," Dean starts, staring at the unfolded map in his hands. "I figure we'd hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight." He looks over to see Sam staring at his PalmPilot, brows furrowed. Dean throws a playful glance at you through the rearview mirror. "Sam wears women's underwear."

A smile curls your lip as Sam responds. "I've been listenin', I'm just busy."

"Busy doin' what?" Dean scoffs, peering at the screen before he steps out of the Impala and begins filling up the tank.

You adjust, placing your bookmark and closing the book. Your chin rests on the back of the front bench sit as you listen.

"Reading emails."

"Emails?" you echo. "From who?"

"Friends at Harvard," he mumbles back.

Dean scoffs. "You're kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies."

You shrug. "I still keep in touch with some people from high school."

"Johnny still want to get in them pants of yours?"

"Yes, Dean, Johnny is still the same asshole."

"See?" Sam says, thumb jutting out in your direction. "Why wouldn't I keep in touch with my friends from college?"

"Well..." Dean slides back into the drivers' seat, closing the door with a grunt. "What exactly do you tell 'em, Sammy? You know, where you've been, what you've been doin'?"

Sam shrugs. "I tell them I'm on a roadtrip with my big brother and family friend. Say that I needed some time after Jess."

The atmosphere in the car dips, but Dean keeps going. "Oh, so you lie to 'em."

"No. I just don't tell them everything."

"That's lyin', Sammy," you chirp, leaning back into your seat. Your milkshake lays empty in your hand, but you don't dare rest it on the ground or, god forbid, the seat. "I get it, though. Lying is better than telling the truth. I can't tell you the last time I told a normie anything close to the truth."

That's what you've always called them - normies. The people that don't know the truth that lays lurking in the shadows. The people that have a peace of mind, can go to bed at night without nightmares of waking up with a blade to your throat or a gun to your head.

The car goes silent for a second. You tap Dean's shoulder with the cup to motion him to throw it away for you. He's back in the car when Sam starts muttering.

"What?" Dean queries, leaning closer to the passenger side despite Sam leaning farther and farther away.

"There's an email from a girl, Rebecca Warren, from college."

"Is she hot?"

You smack Dean upside the head with your hardcover book. He yelps, ducking, when you ask, "What did she say?"

"Her brother, Zack, who went to school with us, was charged with murder. He was arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

"Dude," Dean chortles. "What kind of people are you hangin' out with?"

"No, man," Sam sighs, shaking his head. "I know Zach. He's no killer."

"Sammy," you start. "Maybe you don't know Zach that well. It has been a while since you've seen him."

He ignores you. "They're in St. Louis. We're goin'."

Dean chuckles. "Look, man, I'm sorry about your friend and all, but this doesn't sound like our kind of problem."

"No, Dean, it is. They're my friends." Sam gets that look on his face, the one that says the stubborn bastard isn't going to back down.

"Sam, St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us."

They exchange a look before Dean sighs and starts the ignition, rolling out of the gas station.

"If we're going to St. Louis," you start. "I'm going in the arch. Sam is going with me, because I am not getting fondled in that elevator alone."

"Why the hell would I get fondled?"

"Old ladies like tall men. Tall, young men, Sammy. Just imagine it; their wrinkly old lady hands, sliding up your shirt -"

"Just go back to reading your book, Y/N, please."