The past week had been... kind of insane. Not as bad as he’d expected it to be - nobody really got into serious bickering matches, no one had been seriously injured, the ghouls had died spectacularly, and overall all he’d really had to deal with was occasional moments of heavy awkwardness. Still, he was glad to be on his own again - sure, having Sam in the car with him was more familiar, and despite how weird it was to have another brother Adam was actually not bad, but he liked the alone time.
He still hadn’t completely gotten past the whole incident where he’d basically spilled his entire Hell-tour to his entire family and anyone who was reading in, hadn’t gotten past the stuff Sam had told him. He was trying, but... it wasn’t going to happen immediately, it couldn’t possibly happen immediately. He wasn’t entirely sure it would happen, that he ever would really be okay with it. He’d told Sam he wasn’t going to do what he’d done before, but he didn’t know if that was even true - if he’d be able to do it differently, when he didn’t have those memories to go off of, to know what to avoid.
And avoiding his brother seemed... easier than dealing with it all. That was probably why he’d done it, the first time around. He was trying not to, he was making an effort, but... it wasn’t easy.
So it was just him, the Impala, and the (currently) local classic rock station on an open road, heading back to Lawrence, until it suddenly wasn’t just him anymore.
>"You and I need to have a talk, Dean."
It was probably a good thing there was no one behind him on the road, because at the sound of the unexpected and unfamiliar voice in the car - a voice that should not be there because he was alone what the hell? - he slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop, even while one hand was reaching for the gun under the seat, reassuring metal in his hand pointed in the stranger's direction.