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(crucify the insincere) tonight

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 o5

god sent me a message, said im too aggressive,

     really? me?! too aggressive?! 

 

Everyone's been urging her to do it for so fucking long that, honestly, now, Deanna almost doesn't realize how fucking dumb it is to give up, give in, to say yes.

Almost, not until a guy is falling to the ground in front of her, unconscious, as Castiel snarls, "You pray too loud," then reaches forward to grab a handful of Deanna's jacket and pull.  

Deanna's been beaten up before, like. 

It's actually almost an embarrassing percentage of her life that she's spent being the underdog, or whatever, but she's never been thrown around an alleyway by a skinny 5'3 girl who looks like a librarian, before, and it is just.

Incredibly fucking demoralizing. 

Which is almost awesome, actually, because Deanna wasn't really aware that she had any confidence left to lose

She lets out a pained whimper as Castiel shouts, "I rebelled for this?! So that you could surrender to them?!" 

And it's not that Deanna's, like, being a baby, or anything, here, it just.  

Really fucking hurts.

Jesus Christ

 She begs, sounding like a fucking pathetic loser, probably, "Cas, please," but it doesn't help, of course it doesn't, and this is just. 

Such a bad fight. 

Frankly, Deanna is psyched , because at this rate, she's bound to pass out any minute now.

And, anyway, at least now she'll probably stop having sex dreams about Castiel. 

Probably.

 

 

 

 

She wakes up in handcuffs, with Sammy asking, "How you feeling?" 

And, here, Deanna of yesteryear would say something like, 'Bitch, are you joking? You can see me in these handcuffs, right?'

But she's had a lot of drama with Sammy lately, and something like that probably wouldn't be received very well, so. 

Deanna replies, "Bitch, are you joking? You can see me in these handcuffs, right?" 

Sammy informs her, "Adam's gone." 

Neither of them ever really liked Adam, anyway. 

Deanna's still gonna be pissed that Dad took him to a fucking baseball game when she is on her goddamn deathbed, but she still goes, "Wow, that sucks."

Sammy sighs, and stands up, leans over to unlock her, like, "You're still my big sister, and I know you'll do the right thing." 

"That's real dumb, 'cause I really won't," Deanna promises. 

 

 

 

 

But then they get to the beautiful room, to fucking Van Nuys, and Deanna...does the right thing. 

Well, like, she doesn't save Adam, but that's sort of a factor beyond her control, and at least she tries, so. 

On a very small scale, she does the right thing. 

 

 

 

 

o4

theres a field with angels moving around me, 

   

"She looks like a soccer mom," Sammy declares, finally, after the whole Halloween thing is over and done with. "Like, I didn't wanna say it to her face, you know, but. If she took off that dumb jacket, she'd look like somebody's mom."

Deanna rolls her eyes. "You look like somebody's mom. Everyone with a pussy, over the age of, like, sixteen, looks like somebody's mom, okay, pregnancy is basically an epidemic."  

"It's just not how I thought an angel was gonna look." 

"Fuck that. Look, Sammy, I hate to burst your excited born again religious bubble, here, but Castiel's just a bitch with wings, okay? If she didn't look like everybody else, then it'd be worth talking about." 

Sammy sighs, then starts messing around with the glove compartment. 

Deanna says, flatly, "What are you doing." 

"I want one of those mini Crunch bars." 

"Ugh," Deanna's like. This is a problem, mostly because of how Deanna already ate all of their candy, but also because of how. Well. "Crunch is the grossest chocolate bar ever made--"

"What?!" Sammy screeches, like Deanna just called her a huge slut, or used up all her hair conditioner, or told her about the one time when Sammy was at college and Deanna voted for George W Bush out of pure spite, or something. "No, it's not!" 

"Um, yeah? Followed only, by, like, Kit-Kats--"

"I love Kit-Kats, Deanna!" 

"Yeah, well," she snorts, rolls her eyes, suddenly reminded of Ruby's general fucking existence. "You have bad taste." 

 

 

 

 

Deanna digs a crumpled old Abe Lincoln out of the left pocket of her jeans, hands it to Sammy, like, "Go get me coffee, bitch." 

Sammy rolls her eyes, but she's the one who insisted on stopping at a grocery store to buy half-price Halloween candy at fucking 7AM, so, it's really the actual least she can do. 

Deanna watches as Sammy crosses the parking lot, goes up to the deli counter for the coffee, picks through her change, probably trying to see how much she has left over to buy candy. 

For a second, Deanna feels nine years old again, babysitting while Dad's away on a hunt, at best, or hooking up with random cocktail waitresses, at worst. 

Sammy's only been gone for, like, a minute and twenty-two seconds, but she honks the car horn, irritably, anyway. 

Without even looking out the window, Sammy raises one hand to give Deanna the finger. 

Unbelievable

"No goddamn respect," she mutters to herself, but that just ends up reminding her of Castiel, showing up in the middle of Bobby's kitchen at fuck o'clock, telling Deanna that she didn't exist to perch on Deanna's shoulder, as if Deanna ever fucking asked her to, and that she's an angel of the Lord and Deanna should start showing her some respect, and that maybe Deanna should read the Bible, which Deanna is, frankly, still not over, because?

Why would she ever read the fucking Bible?

She's not too sure who exactly the angels think they're fucking with, okay, but even if they didn't get the memo up in Heaven, Deanna is obviously an American citizen. 

She doesn't have to read anything, and especially not religious propaganda. 

In fact, she's pretty sure that's, like, the entire reason America was founded in the first place. 

When Sammy slides back in the car, holding a cup of coffee, a bag of fun size Crunch bars and a bag of blue raspberry Blow Pops, Deanna starts, "Hey, you're a nerd--"

Sammy glares. 

Deanna sighs, tries again, "I mean, you know stuff about history." 

Sammy raises one eyebrow and passes over the coffee. 

Deanna sips at it, then continues, "So, like. America only exists because a bunch of European jackasses didn't wanna read the Bible anymore, right?" 

Sammy, who was previously preoccupied with trying to open up a Blow Pop, looks over at Deanna incredulously. "Are. Are you joking?" 

"No," Deanna hisses. 

"Didn't you ever read Guns, Germs, and Steel?" Deanna decides to let the blank look on her face speak for itself, and so Sammy demands, "How did you get your GED, again?" 

Deanna grabs Sammy's dumb way-too-long hair and yanks at it as hard as she can, but Sammy still laughs under her breath, "The Bible, oh my God."

 

 

 

 

 

o3

all i wanted was a hundred million dollars and a bad bitch,

 

The most unfair thing about all of this, Deanna thinks, is that Sammy's still fucked up over that whole Trickster thing, like. 

Deanna doesn't think she can really trust Sammy to have her head in the game, right now. 

Of course, Sammy probably doesn't trust Deanna to keep her head in the game, either, not with this whole going to Hell thing just fucking looming over her, so maybe they're square. 

But that's no excuse for both of them just straight up walking into a trap set by some rich English bitch with a weird face, so. 

It's been at least an hour, now, and Deanna's still reeling from the sheer fucking irony of her promising, "Oh, I'll find you, sweetheart, you know why? Because I have nothing better to do," just before Henriksen, the latest man in a long line of many with a hard-on for her that just won't quit, busts in to fucking arrest her. 

Like, she knows that Bela planned it that way, but. 

What a fucking plan. 

In fact, if Deanna wasn't about to be shipped off to prison, she'd probably call it impressive.  

 

 

 

 

 

"You notice he was chewing gum?" Sammy's like, quietly, while they're in the car. 

There's four cops with them, two up front, the other two sitting across from Deanna and Sammy, guns out, safety off. 

They look fucking terrified, even though they're basically just babysitting two mostly malnourished girls in flannel and ripped up denim shorts and $40 work boots from Payless, which means the FBI probably told them some shit like, oh, hey, by the way, the Winchester sisters? Sure, they're pretty, but don't get distracted. We're talking multiple counts of fraud, petty theft, breaking and entering, oh, and a little bit of grave desecration. Broke out of a prison one time. Oh, and they're murderers. Yeah, they've murdered a shit ton of people. Oh, you're still stuck on the grave thing? Why no, actually, we don't know what they do with the dead bodies! Why do you ask?

But they're just local PD, probably. 

Small-time. 

They should be fucking terrified, but. 

Not for the reasons they think. 

These are the kind of guys Deanna could kill without breaking a sweat if she had to, if they were werewolves or something, but they're not, so her hands are kind of tied. 

Well, her hands are actually cuffed, but, like, whatever.

In this case, they are also figuratively tied. 

"What? Who?" 

"Henriksen." Then, like she thinks maybe Deanna's a goddamn moron, or something: "You know, the FBI guy." 

Deanna raises her eyebrows, snaps, "What the hell do you care, Samantha, are you kidding me with this?" 

"Seems pretty unprofessional, that's all." 

"Oh, okay, thank you, Miss Manners, I'll make sure to let him know. Oh my God." 

Sammy lets out a heavy sigh. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Deanna catches one of the cops watching the rise and fall of her chest. 

So, naturally, Deanna smiles in his direction, offers, loudly, "My sister's so hot. She does have gonorrhea, though."

"I. What?! Deanna--"

"Quiet, convicts," one of the cops is like. 

The one who was eye-fucking Sammy is now staring intently at his shoes, which is fucking dumb as hell with a presumably loaded gun in his hand, still fucking pointed at people, but. 

Whatever

Like Deanna's gonna just, like, solve all of America's problems? 

Monster hunting, fine, somebody has to do it, and she already has the skillset, but.

Gun control? 

Police training? 

So above her pay grade.

 

 

 

 

Being chained to Sammy by their fucking ankles is probably supposed to be degrading or something, but nothing could ever get more degrading than the obstacle course Dad made them run through once a week after duct-taping them together, just to make sure they'd be able to get themselves out of hostage situations. 

Dad would sit on the hood of the Impala and get drunk, usually, so he was never close enough to hear it when Sammy complained that they were never going to be in a hostage situation, let alone a situation where anyone would be weird enough to fucking tape us together, what the fuck is his problem, but. 

Thank God for John Winchester, sick son of a bitch that he was, because at least it's not too awkward moving around their cell like this.  

 

 

 

 

It gets a little bit awkward when Henriksen struts up to them, talking shit about what he's gonna eat for dinner (even though, like, while he is kind of a babe, he's definitely too old for his metabolism to be doing him any favors, so he probably shouldn't eat steak or lobster in the middle of the fucking night,) and about his apparent interest in prison-themed lesbian incest porn, and about how he's going to put them in tiny little cells that, whatever, violate their constitutional rights

Joke's on him, big time, because Deanna is just a high school dropout from fucking Kansas, and therefore, is somebody who knows jack shit about the Constitution, except for how she knows that it says she's allowed to have a gun, just on the grounds of her wanting one. 

Then he adds, grinning at Deanna, the way she suddenly realizes he's been talking to Deanna this whole time, like Sammy's not even fucking there, "Take a good look at Samantha. You two will never see each other again." 

Where she's sprawled faux-leisurely next to Deanna, Sammy tenses up, and she pushes off the bed, leans a little bit past Deanna to just stare at Henriksen, like maybe she, too, thinks he could just be a gross idiotic misogynistically true-to-life hallucination. 

He laughs, on his way out. 

Probably not a hallucination.

 

 

 

 

It gets a lot more awkward when Deanna's been shot in the fucking arm by a goddamn demon, because apparently there are demons in the FBI now, but they don't know how to fucking aim.

It's not that Deanna wants to die, or anything, but.

Come on

She was barely even a moving target. 

 

 

 

 

It gets even more awkward after Sammy's straight-up assaulted some little Catholic girl for her rosary beads, but. 

As Deanna's pretty sure she heard in a song once, needs must when the devil drives. 

She smirks at Sammy, goes, "It's like we got a contract out on us. Hey, you think it's 'cause we're so awesome?" 

Deanna is still bleeding, and Winchester rules say that means Sammy's got to at least pretend her jokes are funny, but Sammy just rolls her eyes. 

It's beyond rude, Deanna thinks, but. 

She keeps it to herself. 

God. 

She's so goddamn hungry. 

Don't police stations usually have vending machines in them, or is that hospitals? 

Whatever, as soon as she's out of these chains, she's so buying a Twix. 

Or one of those little Hostess apple pies. 

If she hadn't already sold her soul, she might sell it now for one of those pies. 

 

 

 

 

 

o2

you can go and make up lies, but im so sanctified, 

 

She tosses her hair back, smiles winningly for the camera, starts, "My name is Deanna Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone."

Deanna registers, absently, that everyone in the room -- the cops and her very own lawyer, included -- looks just about ready to strangle her to death, but then she dismisses it as a mostly irrelevant fact of life, and moves on, adds solemnly, "But I know who did." 

But, for some strange reason, nobody seems to really care what she has to say after that. 

In all honesty, Deanna doesn't really give a shit, either, because Sammy was probably out of that interrogation room as soon as they left her alone, and that's all that matters, but still

It gets annoying, sometimes, not being paid attention to. 

Deanna's been dealing with it ever since Sammy grew two cup sizes and an extra five inches of height in, like, one summer, and stopped cutting her hair, and suddenly started looking like a walking talking brunette Midwestern Barbie doll, but. 

God, this time Sammy's not even in the room.   

 

 

 

 

 

It's more or less quiet for the rest of the day, until, suddenly, she's being extradited to St Louis, for those shapeshifter murders. 

It's almost okay, except. 

Being transferred in the middle of the night, by one cop, seems like a fake thing that this guy just made up, so. 

Fuck

 

 

 

 

 

It's not like Deanna's never had to fuck a cop because, like, please, she's a relatively attractive blonde woman of the semi-criminal persuasion, okay, she's had to fuck an almost embarrassing amount of cops, but when the detective guy stops the van in, what is, as far as Deanna can tell, the middle of nowhere, she thinks two things at once. 

She's about to have sex, and she's about to die. 

Possibly not even in that order. 

The worst thing, Deanna decides, is that this guy probably doesn't even have a demon in him, or anything, like. 

He's probably just a sick motherfucker, just like almost every other cop or fed or social worker she's ever met. 

When he pulls open the doors that are her only way out, she smiles, hopefully, "Flat tire?" 

"Out." 

Deanna's pretty sure that if she doesn't just climb out herself, he's going to, like, grab her, and then she might actually have to fight back, and then he won't even be lying when he inevitably informs a jury of his peers that she brought it on herself, so. 

She gets out of the van. 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting out of the van is the second most stupid thing Deanna's done in, like, at least forty-eight hours. 

The first stupid thing was engaging that moron lawyer in conversation, at all, because she gained basically nothing from it except a pen and some paper, which she could've just taken from him, anyway. 

But, like, Deanna literally saw this exact thing happening on an episode of Prison Break, like, three weeks ago. The cops catch that hot prison escapee and then they tell him to get out of the car in the middle of nowhere, and they murder him. 

And, no offense to that dead guy, but Deanna's way prettier than him. 

She doesn't deserve to be murdered, especially because she's great at card games, gay sex, and manual labor, so she'd probably thrive in any given prison environment. 

The cop doesn't seem like he's in the right mood to be swayed by this kind of argument, though, so.

She's pretty much fucked.  

Then Sammy shows up with that vaguely familiar-looking lady detective, and.

And then everything's okay. 

 

 

 

 

o1

i just worship thee, for all hes done for me,

 

If Deanna were a betting woman, she would put cash money, actual American dollars, on the fact that Sammy and Dad only got along the last time they all met up because they were only together for, like, five and a half minutes. 

Deanna is a betting woman, but there's nobody around for her to bet, except for Sammy and Dad, and she somehow thinks they wouldn't really appreciate a bet like that. 

Jesus.

She really needs to make some friends. 

 

 

 

 

This time, Sammy's been pissed since Dad even showed up.  

The second Dad walked away from them to get in his truck, still talking crazy shit about vampires over his shoulder, Sammy hissed, "Okay, not to be, like, not a feminist, but what the fuck kind of grown-ass man knocks on a window in the middle of the night like that?! We're girls, Deanna! You're fucking blonde! You've seen horror movies! That's how blonde girls die! "

Deanna rolled her eyes, and kind of hoped that'd be the end of it, but. 

No such luck. 

 

 

 

 

Deanna's shocked that Dad's still in the motel with them when she wakes up, she's shocked that Sammy only asks, like, two questions before getting out of bed and doing as she's told, and she's even more shocked that Dad apparently only has to be in a town, for, like, three hours, before he gets a good lead on a case, these days. 

Hunting by himself has made him sharper, faster, better, and that sucks, because Sammy never really liked hunting with them, and tried to get out of it as much as she could, so if anyone was ever slowing Dad down, it was Deanna

But here Dad is, larger than life, right in her face, telling her that vampires don't have fangs, just teeth

What the fuck ever, because it fucking looks like a fang to her

And then, like he hasn't already put her in her place, or whatever, Dad goes, sounding like he can't believe he has to say it, like somebody's got a gun to his head, so there's no way he can just shut the fuck up, "Deanna, would you touch up that car before it rusts? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it."

Deanna's jaw drops.

Sammy, leaning her elbows against the top of the Impala, raises an eyebrow, like she's asking, are you gonna let him get away with that?

It's made even worse by the fact that they both know that Deanna is, absolutely, going to let him get away with it. 

She shuts her mouth, and climbs into the car, feeling more goddamn outraged than she has in a long fucking time. 

 

 

 

 

It's almost always a bad idea to let Sammy drive her car, but Sammy's been driving the Impala all day, so Deanna thinks, like.

If something bad was going to happen, it would've, already. 

But then Sammy's speeding ahead of Dad's truck, blocking off the road and forcing Dad to a loud screeching stop, and Deanna can hear Dad shouting, before his car door's even all the way open, "What the hell was that?!"  

Deanna's not really like most girls raised by single fathers, in the sense that her dad never made a good-natured effort to learn to braid her hair, or awkwardly take her out to buy her first bra, or.

Well, actually, okay, on second thought, she's probably exactly like most girls raised by single fathers. 

Still, she didn't turn out to be a stripper, or a hooker, or whatever, and she doesn't even have one trashy tattoo, so she always kind of thought she was doing alright, but now, in the middle of a dark highway, surrounded by forests that are literally filled with blood-sucking vampires, and watching her dad get up in Sammy's face, she's. 

Scared. 

She thinks. 

Maybe not exactly scared, but. 

She's something

The last time Dad hit her, she was about to turn eighteen, and Sammy had just run away, again, and Deanna hadn't really done anything about it because it became pretty clear pretty quick that Sammy had fucking skipped state lines, so what the fuck was she even supposed to do? 

As far as Deanna was concerned, it was dumb as hell for a con artist to raise his kids and not expect them to pick up a few tricks along the way, so if Sammy wanted Deanna to find her, she would've been able to, but she hadn't been, because Sammy wanted to be left the fuck alone, in that shitty little apartment, eating pizza all day with her dumb dog, or whatever it was she was doing. 

She's pretty sure the last time Dad hit Sammy, it was right before Deanna came home from work, when she ran into Sammy storming down the street with a duffel bag over her shoulder, shouting something almost incoherent about college and California and I'll call you.  

Now, she's twenty-seven, but she feels like she's twelve and Sammy's just a baby throwing another one of her tantrums, not capable of understanding that Dad is kind of goddamn crazy, and that he will knock her the fuck out if he thinks he can justify it, because he's going, "I said, get your ass back in the car," and Sammy looks like. 

God, Sammy looks like she might laugh right in his fucking face when she says, "Yeah, but I said no."

Dad might hit Sammy, but Deanna can't tell, because it's something that hasn't happened for a long time, and she's kind of lost the knack for being the unofficial fucking peacekeeper, but Dad is fucking furious, and so is Sammy, and Sammy's, like, crazy tall, now, which might be part of the false sense of security she's clearly caught herself in, but she's still not quite as tall as Dad, who obviously knows that, and is standing so intimidatingly close to her on purpose, probably, and Deanna doesn't really have time to think about it before she rushes over to get between them, like, "Okay, Sammy, we get it. You're a big girl, now, okay? Fine. Come on." 

And they almost make it, too. 

No broken bones, no blood, no problems. 

And then Sammy sneers, quietly, with one hand on the handle to the Impala's driver side door, "This is why I fucking left in the first place." 

And Dad, halfway back to his truck, spins around, like, "What'd you just say?!"

"You heard me!" 

Deanna groans. 

 

 

 

 

In minutes, they're in and out of the vampire lair, which is not at all what Deanna expected after watching years and years and years of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, but is actually just an old barn that smells like death, and then Dad tells them they need to pick up something called dead man's blood. 

The left side of Sammy's face is already swollen, and she hasn't stopped looking ready to commit murder, so Deanna volunteers them both to go down to the funeral home, because, like.

She knows that they need dead man's blood, or whatever, but she'd prefer it if the dead man in question wasn't their father

There's a tiny little drugstore across the street from the funeral home, and Sammy follows, silently, as Deanna picks an ice-cold old-fashioned glass bottle of cream soda out of a refrigerator. 

She tosses the bottle to Sammy, gestures wordlessly to her face, then wanders over to the first aid aisle to find a pack of syringes. 

 

 

 

 

+o1

theres that holy water, sanctified refreshments,

 

It's hard to believe that just a few days ago, Deanna was breaking into Sammy's apartment, and they rolled around on the floor in the dark like they used to, and then some Amazon-looking blonde girl switched on the light, like, "Um? Sam?" 

It's mostly so hard to believe because the Amazon is dead, now, and the apartment's burned down, and Sammy's dropped out of school and doesn't care, even though the first time she said she wanted to go to college, Deanna was pretty sure Sammy was saying that she would kill herself if she didn't get to go, and there's a part of Deanna, the really little part of her that she tries to never pay attention to, that wants to fall apart, that wants to start panicking, considering the last time this kind of thing happened, but Sammy's just. 

Sitting there, next to Deanna in the car, face drawn tight, and she's washed the blood and soot off her face and out of her hair, but if her fingers weren't twitching against her thigh every few seconds, Deanna would think she was fucking dead

Deanna pulls off the I-15 when they're coming up on Bakersfield, on their way to Colorado, because she's desperate for an In-N-Out burger, and who knows when she's going to get one of those again, but before she can ask Sammy if she wants anything, Sammy goes, voice raspy and weak and slow from screamingsobbinggaspingforbreath, "Can we get Carl's Jr?"

Deanna thinks, quickly. 

She's pretty sure they have to drive through Vegas, and there's almost definitely a couple of In-N-Out's in Nevada, so. 

"Sure." 

 

 

 

 

The guy at the drive-thru asks, disbelievingly, "You want what?" 

Deanna glances over at Sammy, just to double check that she didn't fuck up her order, but Sammy nods, so Deanna leans back toward the microphone thing, like, "Yeah, Diet Coke, chocolate shake, four Western Bacon Cheeseburgers, extra onions on two of them, no bacon on the other ones." 

She knows she should wait for the guy to tell her the total, but, honestly, she doesn't want to deal with some loser judging her anymore than she really has to, so she speeds forward up to the window, turns the radio back up with one hand. 

It's soft rock, because that always knocked Sammy out when they were kids, and Deanna hasn't seen Sammy get any real sleep since.

Well. 

Yeah. 

Billy Corgan's been crooning, Tonight, Tonight for what feels like about thirty-seven minutes, Jesus Christ, what a fucking long song, when Sammy says, finally, defensively, "The bacon adds on, like, eighty calories, plus it's bad for you--" 

"Nobody's judging you, Samantha, " Deanna lies through her teeth. She wouldn't usually, but Sammy's just been through a traumatic experience, so. She should be nice. "God, it's like the time Julio Ramirez told your whole high school you were still scared of clowns, all over ag--"

"His name was Julian Rodriguez and you know it, and it was embarrassing--"

"Oh my God, woman! Relax! I don't know why you thought letting a boy choose the movie you went to was a good idea--"

"What was I supposed to do, Deanna?!"

"Uh, wow, Sammy, I don't know! Not going at all, would've been smart, I guess, now that I think about--" 

"I am smart, Deanna," Sammy snaps, sounding a lot like the stupidest bitch Deanna's ever met. "You were the one who said I could go in the first place; I asked you--" 

"Yeah, and I thought you knew he was trying to date you! All boys trying to get laid take girls to scary movies, okay, it wasn't new! They've been doing that shit since, like, the JFK presidency!"

"Deanna, how the hell would I have known that?!" Then Sammy demands, sounding even more frantic, and a lot like somebody who needs to go the fuck to sleep, already, "How do you know who JFK was?"  

The song's nearly over, all, and if you believe there's not a chance tonight, when the drive-thru window opens, and a girl takes the twenty out of Deanna's hand, hands her back her change, hands over the drinks, the food, and as Deanna pulls the Impala out of the Carl's Jr. parking lot, it ends, like, believe in me, as I believe in you, tonight. 

When she glances over at her sister, Sammy's asleep, or something close to it, head pillowed against the window by Deanna's leather jacket. 

Deanna sips her milkshake, turns the radio over to the first station she can find that's actually playing some good music, and turns the volume down low as she pulls back onto the highway.