TITLE: The Mark That Still Remains
AUTHOR:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oriundus
CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean.
RATING: (Gen) PG-13
WARNINGS: none
WORD COUNT: 1,121
SUMMARY: Just why exactly is Dean so attached to the Impala?
A/N: Supernatural is as much about the car as it is about the boys. Title from Mama Said by Metallica, which is the closest description of Dean I’ve ever heard in music.
Thanks todragojustine for an awesome beta and much comma removal; thanks also to antigonesgift for the amazingly quick beta and the squeeing and general encouragement!
The sky is darkening to black when Bobby hears the throaty growl of the Impala in the distance. He hauls himself to his feet on the dusty porch, squinting into the night for the faint glow of headlights and throwing back the last of his coffee. Whiskey would have been his first choice, but until he knows what the problem is he doesn’t dare. It’s been four hours since Dean’s frantic phone call, and he’s been ready for them for the last three. He doesn’t know what to expect; Dean hadn’t exactly been lucid, and all Bobby had got clearly was Sam and blood and a whole lot of fuck.
The car groans to a halt, and even in the dim light falling from the porch, Bobby can see the deep gouges along the driver’s door, the spiderweb of cracks across the windscreen. He’s heading down the porch steps at a run when Dean flings his door open and lunges out, catching himself on the door and breathing deep before straightening. Bobby reaches to steady him, eyeing the way Dean’s favoring his right arm, but Dean waves him off.
“Get Sam,” Dean grinds out, voice rough with suppressed pain. Bobby can see past him to the shadowed body in the passenger seat, frighteningly still. He’s around the car and pulling the door open before he’s even aware he’s moving, hands cradling Sam’s head as he slumps sideways with a groan. Dean tries to help as Bobby maneuvers Sam out of the seat, but he’s in the way and Bobby shoves him back roughly. Dean doesn’t even bitch about it, and Bobby wonders just how badly Dean is hurt. Or maybe he’s just worried about his brother; the Winchesters have always cared more about each other than about themselves.
Bobby jerks his head at Dean. “I got him. You go get the kit. Kitchen table,” and Dean nods, short and sharp, and heads into the house as Bobby hauls Sam out of the car and half-carries him onto the porch. Sam’s barely conscious, and Bobby barely makes it into the house before Sam passes out completely. Bobby lowers him to the rug; Sam’s a dead weight, and there is no way Bobby’s going to lift him as high as the couch. There’s blood on his face, still oozing slowly from a deep gash in his scalp, and his left leg hangs limp, a rough blood-soaked bandage wrapped over his jeans. Dean drops the first-aid box on the floor next to Bobby, and sinks down at Sam’s side. He looks exhausted, and Bobby wonders how he managed to drive the four hours it took him to get there.
Bobby is deeply relieved when neither Dean nor Sam’s injuries turn out as bad as they looked. Sam’s leg has one deep gash, but it’s clean and takes only a few stitches. Sam wakes up fully as the first stitches go in, and Bobby wonders at the unfairness of that. Sam’s still a little groggy, but there’s no nausea and he’s lucid enough. He’s the one who finally tells Bobby about the huge demon wolf while Dean crashes on the couch, the pain of pulled muscles dulled by whiskey and meds.
~*~*~
Dean refuses to leave Bobby’s for the best part of a week; he tells Sam that the Impala needs work and he needs Bobby’s help. He’s not sure if Sam buys it, but Dean’s not going anywhere until Sam looks less like he’s going to keel over if he turns round too fast. Bobby and Dean hammer and sand and repaint while Sam rests up on the porch, and the fact he doesn’t even complain lets Dean know he was right to insist. By the time Sam’s stitches come out the car is pristine, smooth and gleaming under the late summer sun.
They spend one last night with Bobby, ordering in pizza and working their way steadily through Bobby’s whiskey in celebration of another disaster lived through. Sometime after midnight Dean slips out the door, the heavy warmth of the night soaking into his bones as he wanders over to the Impala. He eyes her smooth lines, seeking out any sign of her history, and smiles to himself as he sees nothing but perfection. She is beautiful, and he thinks he loves her almost as much as his father did.
He opens the door, sliding behind the wheel and turning the key, watching the lights of the old car spring to life around him. He flicks the radio off; the quietness of the night doesn’t need the intrusion of music. He listens to the engine rumbling quietly under him, and suddenly everything feels right to him. They made it, he and Sam and the Impala, and tomorrow they will hit the road, and everything will be as it should be.
Dean slumps back in the driver’s seat, relief finally smoothing out the lines on his face as he runs his fingers lightly over the wheel, the dash, feeling the smooth lines of the metal and plastic under his fingers.
“Hey, baby. Back with me?” His hands smooth over the grainy leather of the seat, and ghost up over the wheel to the slickness of the new windscreen. He feels the faint depression in the frame where the wolf’s head had impacted, finally stopping it long enough for him to put a blessed bullet through its skull. The car lies quiescent, but Dean imagines he can feel the hum of restrained power at her heart. He wonders how many more times she can do this, stand up to forces far greater than any machine was intended, how many more times she can save them. His hands reach the ceiling, and smooth over the soft fabric covering the metal there.
His fingers finally seek and find the almost imperceptible bump in the roof lining, and he closes his eyes, seeing in his mind’s eye the tiny charred piece of bone, carefully wrapped and placed there by his father, now known only to himself and Bobby. He’s never told Sam about this, and he’s not quite sure why, but suspects it’s because Sam never knew her, might not understand why Dean needs this, even after all these years.
The back door of the house opens, yellow light flooding the dusty yard, and Dean opens his eyes and watches as Sam steps out, a couple of beers in hand. He waves the bottles at the car, and Dean grins right back at him. His family is safe and whole for tonight, and he opens the door, running his fingers once more over the bump in the roof, and goes to sit with his brother under the stars.
~end~
AUTHOR:
oriundus CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean.
RATING: (Gen) PG-13
WARNINGS: none
WORD COUNT: 1,121
SUMMARY: Just why exactly is Dean so attached to the Impala?
A/N: Supernatural is as much about the car as it is about the boys. Title from Mama Said by Metallica, which is the closest description of Dean I’ve ever heard in music.
Thanks to
dragojustine for an awesome beta and much comma removal; thanks also to antigonesgift for the amazingly quick beta and the squeeing and general encouragement!The sky is darkening to black when Bobby hears the throaty growl of the Impala in the distance. He hauls himself to his feet on the dusty porch, squinting into the night for the faint glow of headlights and throwing back the last of his coffee. Whiskey would have been his first choice, but until he knows what the problem is he doesn’t dare. It’s been four hours since Dean’s frantic phone call, and he’s been ready for them for the last three. He doesn’t know what to expect; Dean hadn’t exactly been lucid, and all Bobby had got clearly was Sam and blood and a whole lot of fuck.
The car groans to a halt, and even in the dim light falling from the porch, Bobby can see the deep gouges along the driver’s door, the spiderweb of cracks across the windscreen. He’s heading down the porch steps at a run when Dean flings his door open and lunges out, catching himself on the door and breathing deep before straightening. Bobby reaches to steady him, eyeing the way Dean’s favoring his right arm, but Dean waves him off.
“Get Sam,” Dean grinds out, voice rough with suppressed pain. Bobby can see past him to the shadowed body in the passenger seat, frighteningly still. He’s around the car and pulling the door open before he’s even aware he’s moving, hands cradling Sam’s head as he slumps sideways with a groan. Dean tries to help as Bobby maneuvers Sam out of the seat, but he’s in the way and Bobby shoves him back roughly. Dean doesn’t even bitch about it, and Bobby wonders just how badly Dean is hurt. Or maybe he’s just worried about his brother; the Winchesters have always cared more about each other than about themselves.
Bobby jerks his head at Dean. “I got him. You go get the kit. Kitchen table,” and Dean nods, short and sharp, and heads into the house as Bobby hauls Sam out of the car and half-carries him onto the porch. Sam’s barely conscious, and Bobby barely makes it into the house before Sam passes out completely. Bobby lowers him to the rug; Sam’s a dead weight, and there is no way Bobby’s going to lift him as high as the couch. There’s blood on his face, still oozing slowly from a deep gash in his scalp, and his left leg hangs limp, a rough blood-soaked bandage wrapped over his jeans. Dean drops the first-aid box on the floor next to Bobby, and sinks down at Sam’s side. He looks exhausted, and Bobby wonders how he managed to drive the four hours it took him to get there.
Bobby is deeply relieved when neither Dean nor Sam’s injuries turn out as bad as they looked. Sam’s leg has one deep gash, but it’s clean and takes only a few stitches. Sam wakes up fully as the first stitches go in, and Bobby wonders at the unfairness of that. Sam’s still a little groggy, but there’s no nausea and he’s lucid enough. He’s the one who finally tells Bobby about the huge demon wolf while Dean crashes on the couch, the pain of pulled muscles dulled by whiskey and meds.
~*~*~
Dean refuses to leave Bobby’s for the best part of a week; he tells Sam that the Impala needs work and he needs Bobby’s help. He’s not sure if Sam buys it, but Dean’s not going anywhere until Sam looks less like he’s going to keel over if he turns round too fast. Bobby and Dean hammer and sand and repaint while Sam rests up on the porch, and the fact he doesn’t even complain lets Dean know he was right to insist. By the time Sam’s stitches come out the car is pristine, smooth and gleaming under the late summer sun.
They spend one last night with Bobby, ordering in pizza and working their way steadily through Bobby’s whiskey in celebration of another disaster lived through. Sometime after midnight Dean slips out the door, the heavy warmth of the night soaking into his bones as he wanders over to the Impala. He eyes her smooth lines, seeking out any sign of her history, and smiles to himself as he sees nothing but perfection. She is beautiful, and he thinks he loves her almost as much as his father did.
He opens the door, sliding behind the wheel and turning the key, watching the lights of the old car spring to life around him. He flicks the radio off; the quietness of the night doesn’t need the intrusion of music. He listens to the engine rumbling quietly under him, and suddenly everything feels right to him. They made it, he and Sam and the Impala, and tomorrow they will hit the road, and everything will be as it should be.
Dean slumps back in the driver’s seat, relief finally smoothing out the lines on his face as he runs his fingers lightly over the wheel, the dash, feeling the smooth lines of the metal and plastic under his fingers.
“Hey, baby. Back with me?” His hands smooth over the grainy leather of the seat, and ghost up over the wheel to the slickness of the new windscreen. He feels the faint depression in the frame where the wolf’s head had impacted, finally stopping it long enough for him to put a blessed bullet through its skull. The car lies quiescent, but Dean imagines he can feel the hum of restrained power at her heart. He wonders how many more times she can do this, stand up to forces far greater than any machine was intended, how many more times she can save them. His hands reach the ceiling, and smooth over the soft fabric covering the metal there.
His fingers finally seek and find the almost imperceptible bump in the roof lining, and he closes his eyes, seeing in his mind’s eye the tiny charred piece of bone, carefully wrapped and placed there by his father, now known only to himself and Bobby. He’s never told Sam about this, and he’s not quite sure why, but suspects it’s because Sam never knew her, might not understand why Dean needs this, even after all these years.
The back door of the house opens, yellow light flooding the dusty yard, and Dean opens his eyes and watches as Sam steps out, a couple of beers in hand. He waves the bottles at the car, and Dean grins right back at him. His family is safe and whole for tonight, and he opens the door, running his fingers once more over the bump in the roof, and goes to sit with his brother under the stars.
~end~
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