Orders
You couldn't remember what it felt like to sleep in a bed. The past few days had been spent slaving over books and Internet research, passing out either on a desk or a couch. Nothing. Demons had been making deals pretty much since the dawn of time and not a single person knew of a way to get out of this situation. Well screw humanity, it was essentially useless and you were officially exhausted. You laid your head down on the latest book, Et Deals & Mones, and slowly drifted to sleep. Screw consciousness.
"You touched it? Dammit Sam!" Your head bolted up and your arm instinctually grabbed for your gun, knocking four books over in the process. Son of a bitch. You stood up and began to reorder the series when you noticed a certain picture fall to the floor. Bobby must've been using it as a book mark. You picked it up and your heart was torn. It was your father. It was his first tour and low and behold he was smiling with an arm around, you guessed it, John Winchester himself. He always was happiest out in the field. You turned to Bobby (who was facing away from you still on the phone) and quickly folded the picture, tucking it in your back pocket. You had so many issues with the man, yet still had the strange urge to keep the artifact. Analyze that, Shrinks of the world. Bobby speaking again brought you out of your thoughts. "His lockup? Yea I knew. Hell, I built those curse boxes for him. Listen you have got a serious problem. That rabbit's foot ain't no dime-store notion. It's real hoodoo. Old-world stuff. Made by a Baton Rouge conjure woman about one-hundred years ago." What the hell had the boys gotten into now? Bobby suddenly turned around and saw you staring. He rolled his eyes and motioned for you to get him a pen. Quickly following his instruction, he began to write something down. "It's not a luck charm, it's a curse! She made it to kill people, Sam!" He finished what he was writing and passed it to you. Quickly scanning it, you recognized it as an address. Ah, so the boys had screwed up and Bobby was sending help. Good to know he still thought your skills were up to par. After that mock werewolf hunt, he had you wondering. He practically threw his shoulder out motioning for you to 'get the hell outa there' and you ran upstairs to pack. "See, you touch it, you own it...".
It took you less than five minutes to get your bag ready. Your black duffel was definitely big enough to fit a few days worth of clothes, toiletries, and your gun. You figured if you really needed anything else, the Winchester's had a trunk full of goodies you could borrow from. You decided to go with your normal hunting look. Dark wash skinny jeans, a racer-back grey tank and a black denim jacket to go over. You tied your boots and were ready to go. Practically jogging down the stairs, you did a two finger salute to Bobby and packed up in your Jeep. Hey, you were just following orders. No one said you couldn't be excited about them.