She wasn't wrong. Technically. "York, Pennsylvania. Helam Township," he offered. "83 runs right through the middle of it."
"Alright, let's go simpler," he said, pulling into the parking lot for the Friendly's. Something had happened to the diner, some kind of arson. Shame.
"Do you know your name?"
She was sitting in the car like a kid. For the moment, Dean let that go, too. If she had no idea who she was, he wasn't gonna yell at her for putting her feet on the seat. But if she did? Yeah.
As he parked the car, Dean noticed her touching the ashtray. Something in his stomach dropped. All the niceness vanished. There were things about the Impala that people just didn't know. Things you didn't fuck with unless you were given permission. "Don't touch that," he growled.
He cut the engine and got out of the car, waiting for her to, too.