Dean Winchester in the Impala. Again. Or is it finally? Hand in hand, those two. Even if this Impala won't be taking off the ground anytime soon, or at all. She slides a hand in one of her pockets, restlessly, even though it has to come out a second later. To open the door and get in the car.

Trying for all her might to not look like it feels as weird as it does. Like she's stepping on her own ghost. She couldn't count the number of times she's sat here, and for a moment she'd give anything for some part of it to be wrong. But it isn't. Not the shape, or size, or any of the colors. Not the way it feels under her thighs, or her fingers.

"Amy and Sam are good, but Jacob votes for cookies. Which I think means we decide whether we're being nicer to them or him."