LOLA WAS, AGAINST previous statement, not killed by Dean when he realized that the right headlight was busted. Still, she got a proper yell for it, which was punctuated from time to time with 'Next time, I'll just let the ghost kill us all' which was always followed by a very high-pitched 'But did you have to run my car into a goddamn wall?'

The conversation simmered down when they got on the highway. Sam is trying to figure out where the coordinates given by John – he left them with freaking coordinates– she'll get that man even more missing than he already is, one day, she swears it – and Lola doesn't know how to break it to Dean that neither of them are staying for the rest of his 'finding dad' adventure. Sam has his job interview in like, less than ten hours. She has a kid at home. She doesn't have the time to help him, not physically, at least. She's always available if he needs her. He just has to call.

Even if he acts like nothing is wrong, she guesses he knows it's a matter of time before one of them reminds him that he'll have to do the rest of the road alone. He grips the wheel a little too tight, his jaw is a little too set.

Sam's fingers trace down the map opened on his legs, and taps a city. He takes the flashlight tucked between his chin and shoulder, and sets it down. "Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

Lola frowns. "Backwater? Yeah, seems like a place your dad would go."

Dean rolls his eyes at her, but Sam laughs. "No, Elle, it's Blackwater."

"How far?" his brother asks.

Sam inhales sharply, calculating in his head. "About six hundred miles."

"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning."

Silence answers him. Sam looks above his shoulder, his hazel eyes falling on Lola, who looks back at him with pinched lips. He raises his eyebrows at her, gesturing at Dean with his head. You tell him. She frowns back, shaking her head. You tell him.

Dean looks at them, then back at the road, holding back a sigh. Something in his stomach sinks. He had little hope that either of them would come – especially not the pretty brunette in the back. Still...

He was tired of being alone. It may have been selfish, but hunting with his dad meant being lonely most of the time. Late night calls with Lola didn't fix that, especially since, half the time, she was at Terrence's.

"You're not going," he states, matter-of-factly, as if it would soothe the sting of loneliness. It doesn't.

"The interview's in like, ten hours," Sam admonishes. "I gotta be there."

"And I've got Bobs at home," Lola reminds him.

He nods, disappointed, and returns his attention to the road. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever."

Lola huffs, propping her feet up on the front seat. "You better not be saying whatever about my daughter, Winchester."

"Who, me? Never. She's the better Ramirez." He shoves her feet away. "She doesn't put her boots on my seats."

"Okay, well, Sam calls me every week, so you're not exactly the better Winchester either."

Dean side-eyes her, then Sam, who gives him an innocent smile, before he looks back at the road, grumbling. "I'll take you home."

Highway to Hell plays as he changes lanes towards Palo Alto, and something in Lola hopes this isn't some kind of joke or foreshadowing. The other part, when Dean puts it on again, and again, and again, wants to shove his head into the steering wheel.

They get to Palo Alto late at night. It's H-7 to Sam's interview, and Lola tells him to take a power nap before going. It is for a law school, after all. He should bring his A-game, even if he was distracted with saving lives the night before.

And anyway, he could be drunk out of his mind or falling asleep in the middle of the interview, that Lola knows he would still have his place there. Her faith in him never falters.

She gets out of the car with him, not wanting to say goodbye by merely sticking her head out the window. She doesn't know when she's going to see him next – maybe Thanksgiving, at the end of the year? Maybe she can convince Dean to come. She'd just put Bobbi on the phone, and he'd be convinced, she knows it.

Sam holds her, arms around her shoulders and hers around his waist, the only thing she can reach really. He puts his chin on the top of her head, and makes them sway until she giggles. Dean watches, smiling to himself.

"Call me when you get accepted," she tells him when they part, patting his shoulder.

He snorts. "If I get accepted."

"When. Bye Sammy."

"Get home safe. Say hi to Bobbi for me."

She gets back in the car, sitting in the front seat. Dean gives his brother a look. "So she can call you 'Sammy' and I can't?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Like you need permission." Then, he leans over to look through the window. "Call me if you find him?" Dean nods in answer, all but ready to drive off. "And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"

His brother purses his lips. "Yeah, all right."

Lola clears her throat. "'Bye Sammy, take care of yourself.' 'Bye Dean, I'm so glad we can talk like normal human beings!'"

Dean flicks her knee, immediately getting his hand swatted away in retaliation. Sam snickers, and pats the door twice before turning away. Before he disappears into his apartment, Dean leans toward the passenger door, over Lola, one arm going over the back of the seat, inches away from her shoulders. She can feel the leather of his jacket graze her, not that she's overthinking this.

"Hey," he calls, and Sam turns back with a hint of hope on his face. "You know, we made a hell of a team back there," he says, looking back and forth between his brother and his best friend.

Lola smiles, Sam mutters a small agreement, with an equally soft smile. This is as close as a 'I'll miss you guys' they're going to get, both of them know this. For half a second, the green of Dean's eyes is lit up with affection, before his dad's voice rings in the back of his head.
He drives off.

There's about half a second of silence before Lola turns to him. "Please don't psychoanalyze me at..." He looks at his watch. "2 AM."

"I'm not going to." She was.

"You were."

"Was not!"

She tilts her head to the side, just staring at him. His side profile is rugged – there's a crook in his nose, where it was broken and healed by yours truly. A faint scar on his eyebrow, that she stitched up.

Lola thinks Dean bears his soul more than he'd like to. After not seeing him in years, he hasn't changed – still the same boyish charm and hidden wounds. She knows him more than she does herself. Every frown and twist of his lips are dozens of words he never said. Words she knows by heart.

'I don't want to do this alone, but yours and Sam's sake comes first.'

"Stop staring at me, weirdo."

She hides her blush by turning away. "I'm making sure you keep your eyes on the road. Don't wanna end up dead in a ditch." She drums her nails on the car door, hand through the opened window. "You know, we're both just a phone call away. You're not really going to do this alone."

Dean doesn't know how, but she always knows. Whatever it is about him, she knows. If something is wrong with him, she knows. Maybe even before he does. It'd get on his nerves if he wasn't so used to it by now. If he didn't see it as a relief. She never judges. Whatever it is, she gets it, and doesn't hold it against him.

Maybe that's why he stares at her side profile. He's known this woman for half his life. There's not a single thing about her that he doesn't know by heart. She's his best friend. He hammers it in his brain; she's his best friend. She's with Terrence. And he can't keep dragging her down the hunter road. She has a kid at home, a kid he loves to bits.

She glances at him, and scoffs, shoving his face back towards the road. "See what I meant?"

He slaps her hand away. "Don't touch the driver!"

"You're such a princess."

The banter doesn't hide the fact that they both know; when Lola is home, when she's safe and being a mom, having the normal apple pie life – Dean won't be calling her again for a little while.

She smacks her lips, stomach tightening at the thought. "You know how you get this bad feeling, from time to time? Like, cold in your tummy."

"Cold in your– no."

She hums. "My bad. It's probably just anxiety."

He frowns. "Anxiety over what?"

"Anything. Everything. Something bad going to happen?" she rambles, fingers still drumming against the car. "Cold tummy."

Dean looks at her from the corner of his eye, her words getting to his head. Something bad is going to happen? He knows Lola has a fair amount of anxiety going through her body at all times. He always listens through her musings. Just because he doesn't believe his feelings are valid, doesn't mean he doesn't believe hers are.

Besides, there's no harm in making sure. He can just round the block, drive past Sammy's again. Just to make sure.

She gnaws on her thumb nail. He decides to take her mind off things.

"'Tummy' who am I, Bobs?"

Lola tuts. "You wish you had half the motherly love she gets."

The absolutely baffled look Dean gets is enough to make her laugh, hand slapping against her mouth. "That's so messed up!" he cries out.

"I'm sorry," she promises between giggles.

"If it was anyone else, you'd be walking your ass to the airport."

She's still laughing. "You have to admit it's a little bit funny."

"It's really not," he says, but her laugh makes his lips tug up. He always liked her laugh.

"You're smiling!"

"I'm not!"

He finally laughs when she tries to keep it in, growing red from holding her breath. With a chuckle, she lays her head on his shoulder, just like they always do. He tries to shake how different it feels. How warm she feels.

"I missed you," she says, smiling to herself.

Dean's throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "Me too."

Then, all too soon to his taste, she sits up, frowning. "Is that Sam's block?"

He shrugs. "You got to me."

"So we're going to drive past a University block at 2 AM? Not shady at all."

Dean looks at his watch, ready to correct her. He frowns. It's not ticking – it hasn't moved since earlier.

Something's wrong.

"Stalking is a crime, just so–"

A loud, guttural scream pierces the night. They know the voice it belongs to all too well.

Dean parks so fast he hits the curb, car halfway on the street still. Doors are slammed, no words exchanged as they rush up the stairs, Dean breaking the door in.

Climbing up the steps, something awful settles in Lola's stomach as smoke fills her nose.

She kicks the door to the bedroom open.

The entire ceiling has caught on fire. She can discernate a silhouette between the scalding flames. "Sam!"

Sam is crawling away from the bed, shielding his face with one arm. "Jess!"

Dean comes running in, grabbing Sam off the bed as Lola bodily shoves him out the door, the boy struggling all the way, almost clawing at her, trying to get back in the room.

"Jess! Jess! No!"

His screams are lost in the roaring of the fire.

LOLA LETS DEAN TALK to the firemen. It's nothing they don't know already – the fire made only one casualty. She stays with Sam who holds her close to him as she threads her fingers through his hair. She shields him from the world as he cries against her shoulder.

Lola doesn't know much about how Mary Winchester, their mother, died. She was pinned on the ceiling, and there was a fire, that's about it.

She never thought she'd watch it happen to someone else. Especially not Jessica. Sam loved her so much...

"It's okay," she says despite his loud sobs against her.

He cries harder, voice muffled by her clothes. "It's not." She doesn't argue. She never does. She just holds him.

Lola keeps him close to her until Dean walks towards them. Sam quickly wipes his tears and stands up from the trunk of the Impala.She bites down the urge to remind him that Dean isn't their dad, that he can cry in front of him. Softly, she reaches up to wipe the remnant of sadness from his cheek with her thumb, smiling sadly. "I'll be right back."

She walks away as Dean gets closer to his brother, getting her phone out of her pocket. She calls her mother's number. Manuela Ramirez should be asleep, but this is reason enough to wake her up.

"Mommy?" Bobbi's voice answers her.

She chokes on her words. "Hey baby," Lola coos, despite frowning. "What are you doing awake?" She's not exactly willing to announce any death to her daughter.

"Nothing. Reading." She doesn't have the time to scold her. "Hey, mommy, are you coming home soon?"

Lola swallows thickly. She hates herself for it, really, but she's not sure she has a choice. "I don't think so, baby. I think I'm going to stay with my friends for a little while. They need me."

"Oh," her daughter lets out, disappointed. "That's okay. Abuela will make me waffles. What are you going to do?"

Her heart tightens painfully in her chest, and she looks back at her boys. Sam's face is a mask of desperate anger as he loads a shotgun, and tosses it back into the trunk. He shuts it, hands balling into fists.

"Work. Yeah, I have a bit of work to do."

author's note: hello???????????? hi????????????????????? are we even still here???