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Ricky was just slipping into an uneasy sleep when she heard a knock at the door. She jerked up immediately, slipping her dagger out of her belt and raising it in the air. She was still a bit drowsy as she walked forward and cautiously looked through the peep hole. It was Dean. She let out a sigh of relief and put way her weapon before opening the door.

"Hi, Dean," Ricky said, massaging her temples with her fingertips.

"Hey, um, are you okay."

Realizing that she hadn't slept at all in a few days, and knowing she probably looked it too, she forced a smile and tried to look as natural as possible.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What's up Dean?" she replied. Her headache was getting worse.

"I was just going to grab a bite to eat. I was wondering if you'd want anything," Dean said, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, thanks. Just a bit hungry. I'll come with you."

She grabbed her jacket (Now free of mud) and followed Dean outside. The two made polite conversation, but that soon stopped when she turned her head and saw a parked police car. The police were talking to the guy from the motel lobby.

"That's probably not for us." Dean reassured her.

The lobby man turned and pointed to them.

"Or maybe it is," Ricky said.

The cops slowly moved towards them, and Dean took out his phone to call Sam.

"Dude, five-0, take off," he said into the mobile.

"What about you?" She heard Sam ask.

"Uh, I'm with Ricky right now. They kinda spotted us." Dean hung up.

As if on cue, the two cops appeared in front of you.

"Hello officers," Ricky began, a flirty grin playing at her lips. She batted her eyelashes. "Is there a problem?"

"Where's the other one?" the cop stated, unamused.

"What other one?"

"Yeah, what other one?" Dean jumped in.

The cop gestured to his partner to check the rooms. "So, fake U.S. Marshals, fake credit cards? You got anything that's real?"

Ricky knew exactly where this was going. "Dean Winchester don't you f*cking dare," she muttered, quiet enough so that the cops couldn't hear. Too late, she knew he was going to say it anyways. She buried her face in her hands.

"My boobs."

Dean smirked and in an instant the both of them were pushed against the car, handcuffs tightening around their wrists.

"You have the right to remain silent. anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

--------------

"So, you want to give us your real name?" The man asked at the station. She was taken to a separate room from Dean, and the man at the desk kept questioning her.

"I told you already. My name is Molly Hooper."

"Right. Do you know how much trouble you're in?"

"Yup."

"And that doesn't phase you at all?"

"Nope."

"Well, things aren't really in your favor right now. Your room was covered in devil symbols and pictures of missing people. You and your boyfriend are lead suspects in the case right now."

You just raised an eyebrow. "He's not my boyfriend."

The cop snorted. "Well I'm pretty sure he is. And you're name isn't Donna. It's Ricky. I found some photos in your room with labels on the backs of 'em. You know your pop's wanted for first degree murder, fraud, vandalism, and a whole bunch of stuff."

He came closer until she could feel his breath on her face. "But if you just tell us where he is and what he's planning then you could walk away a free woman."

She stared at him for a few seconds, before spitting in his face.

"She's not co-operating," he said to his partner, who was standing at the doorway.

"Just let her sit for a while. I'm sure we'll get her to talk."

A while later Ricky rested her head on her un-handcuffed hand and hummed to herself. She struggled to keep her eyes open as they drooped. She was alone. The cops had gone to investigate some shooting at Whiteford bridge. Part of her just wanted to lay down there and then and take a nap.

"Hey! Ricky!" Someone whispered.

She slowly opened her eyes and peered at the door. And there he was, as she had been expecting.

"Hi Dean, if you wouldn't mind..." She lifted her handcuffs.

-------------------------

"Fake 911 phone call, Sammy? I don't know, that's pretty illegal."

Dean and Ricky were calling Sam from a payphone after their swift escape. Ricky leaned against one of the glass walls of the booth, struggling to stay awake.

"You're welcome," She heard Sam say. "Listen, we got to talk."

"Tell me about it."

"So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. She was buried behind her old house."

"Would you guys shut up." Ricky said with a yawn, "You're hurting my head."

Dean just continued speaking with Sam. "He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

"Oh come on, please? Shut up?"

He held the phone against his chest. "You shut up, Ricky! This is important!"

"I've got his journal," He said returning his attention to the phone call.

"What! How do you know?"

"I've got his journal."

"He doesn't go anywhere without that."

Meanwhile, Ricky had fallen asleep against the booth.

"Yeah, well he did this time."

"What's it say?"

"Sane old ex-Marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"Coordinates. Where to?"

Dean looked back to see Ricky with her eyes shut. "Hey!" He snapped his fingers together.

"Hm? What? Who? I'm awake!" she blurt out, her eyes springing open.

"I don't know yet Sammy."

"Dean, what the hell is going on...WOAH!"

"Sam? Sam!"

Dean hung up. "Wake up, Ricky. We gotta go."