[FIVE YEARS AGO - HAILEY, IDAHO]

Your hands pulled at the loose string of your clutch purse. You adjusted your legs for what felt like the fiftieth time that night, your thighs exposed in the dress your best friend had lent you for your date. The tight fabric clung to your body, hugging you in all the right places, and you were grateful that she'd loan you her favorite dress. But it wasn't you. 

Stilettos arched your feet uncomfortably, and your toes were pinched in the pointy ends of the shoe. You wobbled when you walked on the thin heel, and your cheeks blazed with every step. Now, sitting in a chair in front of your boyfriend of six months, a spotlight seemed to beam down on you. Your bottom lip was turning red and raw from chewing on it. 

You're then-boyfriend, Noah, ignored your obvious unease and gazed at your body hungrily, despite the plate of steak in front of him. You shifted uncomfortably again, eyes darting to the door. 

"Y/n, will you chillax? You've been looking at the door ever since we got here," Noah grumbled, leaning back in his seat. 

Your cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry. I'm just not--" you stopped when you noticed his uninterested expression, annoyed with your behavior. "Sorry. Let's just eat." 

~~~

The rest of the dinner went without a hitch. You and Noah chatted casually, the conversations mostly centered around him and his football team. Your smile never left your lips, happy to listen to your boyfriend talk about the things (or thing) he was most passionate about. He asked once about your classes, but the subject found its way back to him some how. Though, it always did. 

The two of you walked down the sidewalk, arms linked together, the way lit with street lamps. Noah had insisted on going back to his dorm, claiming that he didn't want the night to end just yet. Sore and wanting to kick off your heels, you agreed, expecting a quiet night cuddled up in the bed. 

Your expectations couldn't have been more off. 

[PRESENT DAY - RANDOM GAS STATION]

"Okay, I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here," Sammy says, leaning against the impala. Dean stands next to the gas pump, phone pressed to his ear, and you peeked your head out of the backseat window to look at Sam. "We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought."

Your eyebrows shot up, pleased with the thought. "Yeah, the only thing is we're not going to Pennsylvania," Dean says, walking around the car to the driver's seat. 

"Wait--what?" you question, eyes following the Winchester. 

"I just got a call from an old friend. Her father was killed last night. She thinks it might be our kind of thing," Dean replies. 

"What?" Sam asks, a bit shocked. 

"Yeah, believe me, she never would've called, never, if she didn't need us," Dean adds, hopping into the driver's seat. You eye him suspiciously from the back, glancing at Sam who still hasn't moved. "Come on, you coming or not?" 

Dean starts the engine as Sam climbs into the passenger seat, a confused look on his face. The impala backs out of the gas station and onto the road; Pennsylvania would just have to wait. 

~~~

"by 'old friend' you mean..." Sam trails off, waiting for Dean to finish his statement. 

"A friend that's not new," Dean says vaguely. 

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replies, rolling his eyes playfully. 

"So, her name's Cassie, huh?" you ask, leaning the back of the front seat, holding your head in your hands. "You never mentioned her."

"Didn't I?" Dean questions.

"No," you confirm. "I would've remembered you talking about an 'old friend.'"

"Yeah, we went out," Dean says. 

"You mean you dated someone?" Sam asks, Dean glancing at him briefly. "For more than one night?"

"Am I speaking a language you're not getting here?" Dean shoots back. "Yeah, Dad and I were working a job in Athens, Ohio. She was finishing up college and we went out for a couple of weeks," Dean explains, leaving out the details. 

"And?" you prompt, your curiosity peaking. Dean shrugs. 

"Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident," Sam says. "I'm not seeing how this fits with what we do. Which, by the way, how does she know what we do?"

Dean licks his lips, glancing at you once before adverting his gaze back to the road. "You told her didn't you?" Sam accuses his brother, outraged. "You told her the secret. Our big family rule number one--we do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half, I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio for a couple of times and you tell her everything?" Dean silently takes all of the accusations, keeping his eyes on the road. "Dean!"

"Yeah, looks like," Dean answers, shocking both you and Sam. Sam shakes his head, outraged and disappointed. You slowly sit back against the seat, distracting yourself with the passing scenery. 

[CAPE GIRARDEAU, MISSOURI - PRESS STATION]

Dean leads you and Sam into the newspaper office, his eyes searching the room for a particular someone. You look around lazily, journalists typing away furiously, printers humming and spitting out warm papers. Three people stand in the middle of the office having a heated conversation. One of the men ends it, turning and walking away briskly. The other man disappears in another direction, leaving the young woman to herself. 

She turns around, eyes falling on Dean instantly. Nostalgia masks her face as she says his name, "Dean."

"Hey, Cassie," Dean replies as she takes two steps closer to the Winchester. Memories distract her so much that she hardly notices you and Sam. 

Dean clears his throat, remembering the other important people behind him. "Cassie, this is my brother Sam," Cassie smiles at Sammy as Dean pauses before introducing you, "and our friend Y/n." 

You smile at the woman warmly, thinking that any friend of Dean's is a friend of your's. Her whole demeanor changes instantly; her lips forming a tight line as she looks at you almost... disdainfully. Your smile falters as she sizes you up, her two inches of height towering over you. 

"I'm sorry about your dad," Dean says, diverting Cassie's attention away from you and back to him. 

"Yeah, me, too," Cassie replies gently. 

~~~

Why the hell did she look at me like that? You can't help but over-evaluate your encounter with Cassie and how she glared at you. Did my smile come off as to friendly? Maybe it was too much...

"My mother's in pretty bad shape," Cassie says, carrying a tray of drinks into the living room. "I've been staying with her. I wish she wouldn't go off by herself; she's been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about Dad."

"Why?" Dean asks. 

"He was scared," Cassie replies, pouring a cup of tea. "He was seeing things."

"Like what?"

"He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him," Cassie explains. 

"A truck? Who was the driver?" Sam inquires. You desperately want to ask your own questions, but don't want to offend Cassie anymore than you already did. 

"He didn't talk about a driver, just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear," Cassie says, setting down the boy's cups of tea on the coffee table. She hands you one, and you thank her quietly. "And in the accident, Dad's truck was dented like it had been slammed into by something big."

"Now, you're sure this dent wasn't there before?" Sam questions. 

"He sold cars, always drove a new one," Cassie replies. You manage to take a sip of tea without gagging, the leafy flavor not your particular taste. "There wasn't a scratch on that thing. It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks from Dad's car leading right..." Cassie struggles to get the last part out, her voice breaking, "to the edge where he went over."

She shakes her head, recollecting herself. You frown, sympathizing for the girl. "One set of tracks--his."

"And the first person killed was a friend of your father's?" you ask softly. 

"Best friend," Cassie confirms, "Clayton Solmes. They owned a car dealership together. Same thing--dent, no tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about Dad--'he lost control of his car.'"

"Can you think of any reason why your father and partner might be targets?" Dean asks. 

Cassie shakes her head. "No."

"And you think this vanishing truck ran him off the road?" Sam questions bluntly. 

"When you say it aloud like that..." Cassie sighs and looks at the brothers. "Listen, I'm a little skeptical about this ghost stuff or whatever it is you guys are into." 

Dean chuckles. "Skeptical. If I remember, I think you said I was nuts."

"That was then," Cassie replies flatly. Dean hums. "I just know that I can't explain what happened up there, so I called you." The front door opens and a short woman rushes into the house. "Mom," Cassie calls out, darting to the woman's side. "Where have you been?" 

Cassie's mother jumps, your's and the boy's presence surprising her. "Oh, I had no idea you'd invited friends over." 

"Mom, this is Dean, a friend of mine from...college, and his brother, Sam, and friend, Y/n," Cassie introduces you to her mother. 

"Well, I-I-I-I won't interrupt you," she says, trying to run out of the room. 

"Mrs. Robinson?" Dean asks, stopping the woman in her tracks. "We're sorry for your loss. We'd like to talk to you for a minute, if you don't mind."

Mrs. Robinson furrows her brows, appalled. "I'm really not up to that just now." 

~~~

You burrow into your jacket, hiding from the cold wind nipping at your ears. You and the boys saunter through the car-crash scene to Cassie and the mayor, who are, again, in a heated conversation. 

"Accidents do happen, Cassie. That's what they are--accidents," the mayor says firmly. 

"Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy's car to see if it was pushed?" you ask, looking around the scene. 

"Who's this?" the mayor asks Cassie. 

"Dean and Sam Winchester, and Y/n, family friends. This is Mayor Harold Todd," Cassie introduces the four of you. 

"There's one set of tracks--one. Doesn't point to foul play," Todd counters. The condition of the car begs otherwise.

"Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you--if you're indifferent about--" the mayor interrupts Cassie. 

"Indifferent?"

"Would you close the road if the victims were white?" Cassie challenges. Your eyes dart to the mayor, eyebrow quirked. 

"You're suggesting I'm racist, Cassie. I'm the last person you should talk to like that," the mayor responds. 

"And why's that?" 

"Why don't you ask your mother?" the mayor replies. He glances at you and the boys before walking away to talk to a nearby police officer.

~~~

As you get ready in your own motel room, Sam decided that his next course of action is to dig up more dirt on Dean and Cassie's past and, more importantly, why she has a problem with you. 

"I'll say this for her--she's fearless," Sam says, referring to Cassie, as he slips into his suit jacket. Dean hums in agreement. "I bet she kicked your ass a couple of times. What's interesting is that she looks at Y/n like a dead rat on her porch. You have any idea why?" 

Dean shrugs, adjusting his tie in the mirror. "Female tension?" 

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, no, I don't think so. I was thinking more along the lines of you did something." 

"Whoa, hold on. Why does everything have to be my fault?" Dean questions, suddenly defensive. 

Sam raises his hands in defense. "I'm just saying, man--"

"Shut up. Let's go," Dean cuts him off, exiting the room in a rush and bumping into you.

"Sorry," you squeak as you smooth down your pencil skirt. "I was just coming to get you guys." 

Dean clears his throat, flustered, and pats your shoulder. "Yeah, we're coming. Let's go, Sammy," he says before waling past you. 

You look at Sam, confusion blatant on your face. "Did I do something wrong?" 

Sam laughs, shaking his head. "No, Y/n, I don't think you did."

~~~

"Excuse me. Are you Ron Stubbins?" you ask the man wearing an old baseball cap sitting near the docks with is buddy. "Friends with Jimmy Anderson?"

"Who are you?" he retorts, in no mood for being friendly. His friend happily munches on shrimp from the large pail in the middle of the table. 

"We're with Mr. Anderson's insurance company," you reply and catch the men eyeing you and the boys doubtfully. 

"They had to send three of you?" Ron challenges. 

You smile easily. "They're new."

"Just here to dot some I's and cross some T's," Dean adds. 

"We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?" Sam asks.

"What do you mean, 'unusual?'" Ron repeats. 

You nod at Sam to go over the symptoms. "Well, visions, hallucinations," Sam expands. 

"It's all part of our medical examination," you add before Ron can question your authenticity. "It's all very standard."

"What company you say you were with?" Ron asks. 

"All National Mutual," you reply, Dean flashing the fake identification documents. 

"Tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck, a big black truck?" Dean asks. 

"What the hell you talking about? You even speaking English?" Ron replies snappily. 

You even answer without a question? you think to yourself, biting your tongue. 

"Son, this truck, a big, scary, monster-looking thing?" Ron's pal inquires.

"Yeah, actually, I think so," Dean confirms. 

"Hmm," the man responds as Ron eats a shrimp from their shared pail. 

"What?" Dean asks. 

"I have heard of a truck like that," the man replies, glancing at his grumpy friend. 

"You have? Where?" Sam asks. 

"Not where--when," the man corrects him. "Back in the 60s, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes they disappeared in a big, nasty black truck"

"They ever catch the guy who did it?" Dean asks. 

  "Never found him. Hell, not sure they even really looked. See, there was a time this town wasn't too friendly to all its citizens," the man says. He and Ron exchange a knowing look.

You nod to yourself. "Thank you, gentlemen." You and the boys walk back to the impala, the boys walking in sync, while you have to quicken your pace just to keep up. 

"Truck," Dean simply states. 

"Keeps coming up, doesn't it?" Sam inquires. 

"You know, I was thinking. You heard of the Flying Dutchman?" Dean asks. 

"Mhm, a ghost ship infused with the captain's evil spirit," you comment. "The ship was basically a part of him." 

"So, what if we're dealing with the same thing?" Dean suggests. "You know, a phantom truck who's the extension of some bastard ghost, re-enacting past crimes."

"The victims have all been black men," Sam agrees.

"I think it's more than that," Dean says. 

"Okay, well, you boys keep theorizing. I'm gonna go buy some shrimp before we leave," you state determinedly. 

"Really, Y/n?" Sam questions you, a grin on his face. 

"What?" you ask innocently. "Those guys were eating it like popcorn so it must be good." Dean smirks and Sam tries his best not to laugh at your giddy behavior. "I'll be quick, I promise," you reassure them, then walk to the small shop outside the boat yard. 

The boys share a chuckle as you prance away, both glad to see you in a chipper mood. Dean clears his throat as he composes himself. "Anyways, I was thinking that all these deaths seem to be connected to Cassie and her family," Dean says. 

"All right, well, you work that angle," Sam replies. "Go talk to her." 

"Yeah, I will," Dean agrees. 

"Oh, and you might also want to mention that other thing," Sam says, fighting down his devilish grin. 

"What other thing?" Dean asks as they approach the impala.

"The serious one-sided rivalry between her and Y/n," Sam clarifies. "Dean, seriously. What happened all those years ago that caused Cassie to hate Y/n?" 

[FIVE YEARS AGO]

"Y/n, just hold tight, okay? I'm on my way," Dean said into the phone over your sobs that made his heart ache. You could barely get out a coherent sentence. Dean being Dean, thought of the worst thing that could have happened and panic quickly settled itself in his stomach. 

"You're leaving?" Cassie asked, trying to keep her anger down as Dean left the bed to pack his things. 

"Yeah," Dean replied, tossing his clothes into his duffel bag. "It's Y/n. She--"

"It's always about Y/n," Cassie scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Dean furrowed his brow, but continued to pack his things. "What do you mean?" 

"Whenever you're on your phone, you're texting Y/n," Cassie stated. "And when you're mad, it's because Y/n's shit boyfriend did something." 

"You don't understand, Cassie, I think something is wrong," Dean replied, slinging his duffel bag on his shoulder. 

"So let her boyfriend take care of it!" Cassie took a deep breath, calming herself down. "First you tell me ghosts are real, tell me that you want to move onto the next part of our relationship, and now you want to leave me for some other girl?" 

"Cassie, it's not like that, I swear," Dean objected, voice hardening. 

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you have no romantic feelings for this girl," Cassie challenged, getting up in Dean's face. "Go on." 

Dean exhaled sharply and adverted his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. Cassie's arms dropped at her side and she sighed. "If you leave, I don't want you to ever come back," she said simply. 

"I'm sorry," Dean replied. He pecked her forehead and walked towards the door, towards Y/n. 

"You're not her boyfriend, Dean," Cassie shouted after him. 

Dean stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder, a sad smile on his face. "I know." 

[PRESENT DAY]

"Okay, so maybe I started dating Cassie to distract myself from Y/n's relationship. On their six month anniversary or something stupid, they were going to go out to celebrate and Y/n mentioned about them becoming really serious... I was mad, okay? So I told Cassie the family secret in hopes that we'd get really close but it just freaked her out. I managed to calm Cassie down but then, later that night, Y/n calls me sobbing, so..." Dean trails off. 

"You ditched Cassie for Y/n," Sam concludes. "And you left Dad?" 

"I told him where I was going and why; he was perfectly fine with it," Dean defends himself. 

"Well, you better go clear up Y/n's name because Cassie hating her is killing her," Sam states matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replies. He clears his throat, alerting Sammy as you walk over with a huge grin on your face and a bucket of shrimp under your arm, your other arm busy stuffing your face with shrimp. 

"Dudes, this shrimp--totally worth it. Try some, they're delicious," you offer, gesturing the pail towards the boys. They each take a shrimp and eat the meaty bodies, spitting out the tail and feet. The hum in agreement, the flavor of butter and season on their tongues. "I know!" you exclaim giddily, eating another shrimp. 

~~~

Dean had left an hour ago to go check on Cassie, leaving you and Sam to your motel rooms, the thin walls dividing you. You and Sam had kept your distance since your