Who? Dean and Jo What? Various scenes during their weekend hunting trip. Where? Around, outside of Lawrence. When? The weekend. Rating? Probably not too high?
A good old-fashioned salt-and-burn sounded like exactly what he needed right now, something to shake the restlessness he was fighting, something to think about that wasn’t the million differences between now and the last thing he remembered, that wasn’t ominous things people were saying or long-lost family members or half-brothers or some British bitch who liked to screw with his car and his head.
There would be driving, something that he hadn’t been able to do enough of in Lawrence, because there was always an endpoint, there was a destination or a limit to how far he could go. Open roads were what he needed, and with this there would be a destination, sure, but not a ten minute one, or a five minute one. It would be a couple hours of just driving, and it would be great.
Plus, dealing with ghosts was usually the easiest hunt possible. Figure out what the ghost is tied there with, torch it, and go. If it meant grave-digging, he wouldn’t even mind that, because mindless tasks like that could be pretty relaxing, too. And maybe he’d be able to sleep, afterwards, worn out with digging and maybe running around or, hell, even being tossed around by the freakin’ ghost would be okay, as long as it didn’t toss him onto anything serious. A little bruising and muscle pain never killed anyone, but it did make for a great night’s rest.
Of course, if that failed, he was bringing enough alcohol to put both of them down for the night three times over. Just in case. Although really that was down to the fact that he kept everything in the car, anyway, and not really anything to do with planning ahead, but whatever. There was also food from Mom in the car - she’d made sandwiches and pie, and it was weird to think about Mom doing anything, but it was also a really familiar, comforting thought, to imagine her doing it. He didn’t think she was some cooking goddess or something, but most of the more mundane memories (things that were just normal days, nothing special at the time, but treasured, later on) he had of her before the fire were in the kitchen.
And if the d’jinn world was anything to go by, she made some friggin’ fantastic sandwiches, so he was pretty happy that she’d offered to make food for them. Seriously.
So he had food and drinks. He had an arsenal in the trunk. He was pretty sure Jo had the research notes about this job they were about to take on, or had access to them online or something - he didn’t think she was big on going in unprepared, so he wasn’t really worried. He’d gone to a car wash (one of those stupid, over-priced automatic ones that do a crap job; he’d have preferred to just do it himself, just soap and a hose and a sponge, but he’d been short on time; when he got back, he’d have to do that), so the Impala’s paint was shining like she was supposed to, and it was a bright evening, sun going down in a couple hours and it was great, better than great.
It was a little weird, though, that this was a hunt with Jo, and not with Sam. Not a bad weird, because Jo was great company, it was just not what he was used to. Aside from that, though, it felt like old times, like before Hell, before the year that he couldn’t remember, before the world started to end, or whatever, and he was going to freakin’ enjoy it, okay?
He pulled up outside the roadhouse, a couple minutes after five (okay, he wasn't the most punctual person ever, so sue him, okay?), and honked the horn.