TITLE: Black As She's Painted
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Aug. 30, 2006
SUMMARY: Five times someone who's not a Winchester drove the Impala.
AUTHOR NOTES: Written for Marinarusalka as part of yet another "five things" meme.
DISCLAIMER: Read
1.
John would have gone. He'd spent all morning thinking about how much he'd rather be able to go over to Eudora and take a look by himself at the reality of the dream that Dan had described to everyone gathered 'round in the garage yesterday. Thing was, Mary had the car and she needed it all day. Appointments. Kids needed so many freaking shots for things that John was half convinced the docs were making up, but if someone with that big M.D. said Dean needed them, he'd get 'em.
Anyway, John would have liked to have gone, but then he heard -- hell, he just about felt -- the well-tuned growl of a downshift, and it was better this way, he realized.
Seeing that black beauty take the corner, claim the spot across the street, and oh yeah. He'd talk one of the guys into getting Cranston home, because no way was anyone but him getting behind that wheel again.
2.
Guys looked at the Impala. Girls, too, but not all of them, and every single guy looked at her with a little desire in his eyes. Or a lot.
It was the guy Dean didn't see, though, who managed to break in. He turned over the engine, the taillights flared, and Dean -- the deep, startled rumble in his ears and an apology on his lips -- put a rock right through the back windshield, glaring as the glass shattered just like it should.
The bastard yelped, shouting, "What the fuck, man?"
Dean didn't move. He didn't look away, didn't turn as he felt Dad and Sam come up behind him, only raised his voice far enough for the order, "Get out and get gone," to be heard.
3.
By the time they were sure the poltergeist was not ever, ever coming back, Dean was limping too slowly out to the car and Dad was back behind him flat on the hall floor, eyes closed, breathing regular and all, but not opening his damn eyes.
Hospital. This time, we're going to a goddamn hospital, was all Dean could think. That and, Hell, I'd buy that we fell off a cliff.
Something in the trees moved and Dean almost fell on his ass, the spin to the right putting too much weight on a bone that didn't want to take any. The hand that caught his arm was human, though, old but steady and connected to...shit, the guy's name was...?
"Is it gone?" the man gasped. Then he frowned, leaning in, and asked, "Are you-are you okay?"
Dean set his teeth and nodded, tugging his arm free and dragging himself forward again.
A woman -- Susan, the wife, Dean remembered -- suddenly said, "Oh, the poor boy can't drive like that. Mark, you've got to--"
And then Dean's hands were on the hood and the Impala was taking all of his weight, cold metal and colder reality sinking in. When he said, "Yeah," they went silent, and he watched Mark's eyes carefully as he held out the keys.
4.
Constance was the second bitch of a spirit to take over his car. The first one had been older, a horse-and-buggy type, which didn't excuse the scrape little Miss Winslow had put down the right side when she'd taken off the brake and the Impala was just too heavy to not have rolled down that hill outside her cabin. She'd made a small, tidy bonfire.
Washing the river sludge out of his ears, his hair, his mouth, yuck, Dean shook his head. Careful or lucky, Constance hadn't even dinged the paint, but she was still going down.
5.
Cassie had been a lot of firsts. Dean had opened up a lot of things to her that he always kept locked tight.
He wasn't sure how many onlys she'd be, but honestly, he tried not to think that far into the future.
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