Shatterverse's Return to Harvelle's Road House
The Impala doesn't make the same noises as the Coraline.
It's the first thought that catches Jo as she pulls back into consciousness. She really doesn't mind that lack of pirate music when the first thing that comes to her, through the fabric of her jacket-pillow, is the scent of the leather backseat she's been asleep on. It smells like leather, of course, then salt and herbs, paint and dirt, a little like metal, and unmistakably there's polish. But also something deeply almost musky, old but not beaten. Comfortable.
It reminds her just barely of her Dad's jacket.
The smell she remembers in her head, not when it's dug out of the box where it rests.
Or. Well. Where it had, a few half dozen worlds back, when there was a box that hadn't been blown up.
She doesn't move yet, doesn't open her eyes, just breaths in that smell, trying to push away everything else. Not yet.
Not yet for the thought somewhere in the place she's going another jacket might be in another box. Not yet for the fact the Winchesters are both less than five feet from her, the one that kissed her and the one that...well, is helping now. Not yet for the fact they're going back to finish the job started when Jack sliced clean through Ash's neck and she'd shot her mother the head.
Not yet. It'll all come back to her soon enough.