There Ain’t No Goin’ Home - Dean + Janie
He’s got to get out of this hotel.
It’s funny, in a way. Whenever he’s gone for more than a couple hours, he can’t wait to get back. Cooped up any longer than that, and he can’t wait to get out.
Restless, down to his very core.
Rover, wanderer, nomad, vagabond, call me what you will...
The bright side to this whole apocalypse thing though is that there’s virtually no traffic. It’s a thought that passes through his mind, not for the first time, as he cruises straight through one of the stop lights still working in town. The occasional car littering the street, sure. Abandoned, left wherever it was stopped when the rest of the world boarded the Crazy Train to Hell. But it’s a rare sight to see anyone actually behind the wheel these days.
In fact, Dean can’t remember the last time he saw another motorist. Aside from Zoe, but she didn’t count. She was with them. Dean knew her.
The blonde buried under the hood of some old ass bronco, though... her, he doesn’t recognize.
He makes a right at the next light. Comes up the next block over. Makes a left, and then another to turn around.
Nope. She’s definitely new in town.
The truck doesn’t look terrible... weathered, but clearly taken care of. It’s a Ford though, which in and of itself is enough to explain the car trouble.
“Fix Or Repair Daily,” his dad had always told him.
You know... on the off chance his eldest son ever got to lead a normal life.
Probably the most useless thing his dad had ever taught him.
‘Til now, anyway.
He pulls his car up along the side of the road. Parks behind the rear of the bronco.
The girl had looked way too involved with whatever was going on with her car to be a wandering crazy, but just in case, he pulls his pistol out of his glove compartment, and slides it into his inner jacket pocket.
“Better paranoid than dead.”
See? Now there was sound advice.
Climbing from the car, his steps are measured as he walks along the side of the SUV-- carefully. Purposefully.
Because maybe she is a crazy. Or maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s a trigger happy survivor who’s seen too much, and isn’t taking any chances. Either way, sudden movements from strangers were never a good idea (”Good way to get your ass shot, if you’re not careful...”)
“Car trouble?” he asks, and miraculously, it doesn’t sound cheesy, like some pick up line out of a mechanic themed porn. Instead, there’s a genuine curiosity to his voice, and as he comes around the hood, he quirks a sandy eyebrow at the woman.
“Need a hand?”
Okay. Maybe he’d spoken too soon.