By the time Dean returned, he reeked of perfume and his skin was warm. The local sheriff kept a handful of 'donors' on hand and liked to share. She apparently took great offense if refused, so Dean hadn't, much as he would have liked to. Getting through the sickly layer of cosmetics on the girl had been like biting into a bar of floral soap. Not terribly appealing.

He opened the door and stepped in, glad to see Sam ready to go. He didn't want to take all night to do this. Would much rather get it done and get out of town before the sheriff found some other way to be friendly.

From his bag, he grabbed his old pearl-grip Colt, some extra clips, and a pair of black leather gloves. There was lighter fluid in the trunk, as always, and anything else he might need. "Ready to roll, Sam?"