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Dean is currently driving down a long back road leading into the small town of Bozeman, Montana with Sam riding quietly beside him in the passengers’ seat. One of Dean’s favorite songs is coming through the car speakers. Dean himself is keeping tempo by tapping on the steering wheel. Sam on the other hand is trying to block out the intrusive music while he researches the city they are arriving in.
They are ten minutes outside of Bozeman. After three hours of mostly silent driving Dean finally turns the radio down to a low murmur and shifts slightly in his seat to address the man beside him.
“Having any more luck over there Sam?”
“No, not really. It’s not like there’s much to go on,” Sam replied without looking up from his smart phone.
“You really think this could be a case? It all sounds like normal house breakings and penny thefts to me.”
“I know how it sounds, but –.”
“It sounds completely random.”
“That may be true, but why would a robber risk breaking into a house and only steal a single item?” Sam asked.
“Maybe they were worried about getting caught or ran out of time and grabbed the closest thing in reach,” Dean suggested.
“Every single time? I’ve read dozens of articles. All of them ending the same way. How are there this many unsuccessful robberies?”
“Maybe we’re dealing with a bunch of kids who don’t know their head from their ass. Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t distinguish a pattern for these burglaries?”
“That’s not entirely true. All of the objects missing are of little to no value. Most of these objects shouldn’t even be coming up as missing and some were never reported to the police. The reason they are listed is to let people know to lock their doors at night. I mean, come on, who steals a remote, but doesn’t take the TV?”
“You aren’t really helping your case here Sammy.”
After a pause, Sam begins anew. “Oh, hey, get this…” Apparently new, more recent information has been released, and he began reads an article to the car aloud.
The supposed “case” Sam and Dean are currently investigating is the seemingly random disappearance of everyday household items throughout an ongoing list of low populated cities throughout the United States. The missing objects range from handheld devises to bulky furniture. Sam first caught wind of these strange occurrences four days ago. A woman in Ohio left town for a few days on business and returned to find one of her antique couches missing. The item in question had been listed as missing for two weeks.
Normally Sam would ignore such an article because, like Dean said, it was most likely a random burglary. However, the mentions of no forced entry and no witnesses gained his interest. Since it had been several weeks since the brothers’ last case, and Sam knew the two were becoming bored and agitated with each other (per usual after so long with nothing to occupy them) he decided to look into it.
Three days of quiet on and off research turned up multiple stories as far back as a hundred years ago. Someone would report a piece of furniture or an overly expensive piece of dish wear had gone missing. Stories would pop up from coast to coast of people missing family heirlooms, hand-me-down kitchen utensils, TVs who had run their course, collectable books, or antique vehicles. Yet, no matter how hard Sam tried he couldn’t determine a pattern between any of the incidences. Though some of the missing objects were similar, there was no pattern as to where in the country or at what time - in days, weeks, or years - when an object would go missing. The one consistent detail in each lead was that each article noted there were no signs of forced entry and there were no eye witnesses to see anyone enter or exit the property. Likewise, the cities the incidents took place in showed to have notably small populations contributing to the acts going unnoticed.
On the fourth day, Sam decided to bring in backup. He was becoming frustrated because he couldn’t find what he was looking for and he confronted Dean, hoping a fresh pair of eyes would be able to find a connection.
“I don’t know Sam. Do you really think this could be a case? This doesn’t sound like our type of gig,” Dean had countered. He was always ready to take on a new case, especially since it had been so long since either of the brothers had ventured far from their hotel room, but he wasn’t quit sold on this one.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure myself, but we haven’t had a case in weeks, and we’ve looked into less. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” Sam replied trying to convince his older brother to take the possible case.
“The most recent disappearance was in Bozeman, Mt. exactly one week ago. A recliner was reported missing after the family wasn’t home during the day and there’s still no word on it. The town isn’t far from here. We could drive there in a few hours tops talk to the owners of the chair before the end of the day.”
It didn’t take long for Dean to give into his younger brother’s pleading and the two were soon on the road again.
Pulling into after mentioned town, the brothers continue to repeat the same conversation, but now with additional information.
“So, you’re saying this is the only town were two objects have gone missing?” Dean inquires to make sure he understands the new found data.
“As far as I can tell, yeah. At least in recent years. This is the first town to have two objects mysteriously disappear from two supposedly unrelated families,” Sam replies. “This article is a few hours old. The family, who happen to live on the opposite side of town from the house we’re driving to, went to sleep two nights ago and woke to find their family car missing from their driveway. No alarms were triggered during the night and no witnesses came forward.”
“Of course not, let’s not make this easy or anything.” Dean’s tone is sarcastic. “Wait, a car?”
“And it’s not the only missing automobile I’ve read about. A couple reported a stolen car in Wyoming about a month back, a farmer lost his tractor – his only form of income – without a trace three years ago in Texas, and a single mother reported her missing car back in 1998 in Virginia. None of the vehicles were ever recovered, just like the other items I’ve read about, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more.”
Dean makes a noise of understanding in the back of his throat. “Well, it’s only three. Let’s check out both houses and see if we can find any connection between the victims the PD missed. Maybe find out what we’re dealing with.”
“Oh, so now they’re victims.” Sam cuts his eyes at his sibling. A smirk developing on his face.
“We really could have a case here Sammy. And we definitely have to check this town out before ruling out the possibility.” Dean spins the steering wheel, driving the impala onto the street where the “victims” of the missing recliner live.
“I should have known that’s all it takes to get Dean Winchester interested in anything,” Sam mocks.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Sam rotates in his chair flippantly to gaze out his side window. He huffs of a laugh. “All I have to do is mention the disappearance of a few cars and you get all worked up.”
“Hey, I know what it’s like to lose a beloved car.”
“For no longer than a day.”
“Hey! If I have the opportunity to help out some folks and maybe return a nice chair or a beloved family car in the process, then I’m happy to take the job,” Dean finishes his trying to be honorable speech. He fails dismally.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m sure it has nothing to do with your uncomfortable attachment to, and need to protect the impala,” Sam concludes the conversation when he points out the windshield. “On your right.”
Dean parks the impala next to a light blue painted house sitting on the corner of the street. “Oh, you don’t listen to him, Baby. He’s just jealous,” Dean all but coos to his vehicle while deftly removing the keys.
“It’s scary how often you say that. And does it have to be out loud?” Sam waits for his brother to walk around the car to approach the house together.
As the two walk away from the car, Dean adjusts his tie and leans over to Sam, whispering, “If you think that’s bad you don’t want to hear what I think about that car.” Dean’s lewd laughter makes Sam grimace.
Fifteen minutes later, the two walk back to the car with slightly slumped shoulders. They instinctively loosen their ties. Disappointingly, but not too surprisingly, the two gathered no new information to help with their case.
Apparently the victims had both gone to work for the day while their kids were at school. When the family returned home, the father’s favorite chair was missing from the living room leaving a big empty corner making the large and slightly messy room feel a bit less cluttered. The victims hadn’t heard any news from the police on what had happened to the chair and had already “managed to get over the terrible loss”. An order had been placed for a new chair to replace the old one on the same day. Apparently they had had it for over seven years and it “needed to be replaced anyway”. The brothers had checked the house and saw no signs of forced entry, no signs of supernatural activity, and no further connections to any previous victims. Just a normal family with an old, worn out, stolen chair. How disappointing.
Pulling up to the second victims’ house on the other side of town ten minutes later, the two step out of the impala, each readjust their ties, and walk up to a two-story house.
With a single knock, the door is answered by an average looking middle-aged man with brown hair. “Can I help you?”
Sam and Dean retrieve identical black cases from within their jacket pockets and flip open fake I.Ds.
Dean speaks first. “Hello Mr. Davis. I’m Detective Cobain. This is my partner Detective Grohl.”
They close their badges in unison with a flick of their wrists and Dean presses on. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of a stolen vehicle you reported.”
“Really, why would feds be looking into a stolen car?”
“We just go where they send us, sir,” Dean replies easily.
“And we are investigating multiple cases similar to yours,” Sam adds, sounding slightly more professional.
“I’ve already given my statement to the police…” Mr. Davis trails off.
“We like to gather our own information. I promise, it will only take a few minutes and we’ll be out of your hair. May we come in?” Sam asks with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Twenty minutes later, the brothers emerge from the second house with the same results they received from the first.
“I don’t know Sam. It’s starting to sound more and more like there isn’t a case here,” Dean rehashes for the third time that day. “I think we’ve hit a dead end.”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees a little reluctantly. He walks backwards for several steps. He scans his eyes across the house and over the yard before turning around again and matching pace with his brother. He isn’t convinced himself. “Maybe. I don’t know, man. Let’s sleep on it and who knows. We may find something new tomorrow.”
“Alright, fair enough. Hey, wanna get something to eat?”
Late into the night, the brothers stumble into their motel room. It’s a simple room. The same as any cheap motel room they’re known to stay in on any average week throughout the years of their lives. Faded brown carpet is stretched over every inch of the floor. Two twin beds sit parallel to each other. A small TV sits against opposite the beds that will undoubtedly play no more than twenty channels. A short bar signals the end of the small bedroom and the start of the even smaller kitchen covered with faded tilling can be seen passed the beds. And beyond that, down a stretch of sheetrock unworthy of being labeled a hallway, is surely to be a molded over bathroom only capable of producing cold water.
Just another average motel room with different bed sheets and another pattern of ugly wallpaper. Yet, this room is different. Something is wrong. The door to the room was standing open when the brothers approached. Just an inch of open-air space between the door and the frame itself where it should have been locked in place. Of course, this isn’t unheard of. The door could have been left open for half a dozen reasons; except this time, it wasn’t.
Sam and Dean walk into the room they had booked for the night without a single thought given to the ajar door. Each has enough alcohol in him from dinner to be running on a buzz (but not to be fully intoxicated) making them feel invincible.
The two stroll freely into the room and are greeted by a stranger with his right hip leaning against the kitchen bar.
The stranger glances up from the ground and grins wide at the brothers in greeting when they enter the room. The stranger is about the same height as Dean. He has a well-toned chest and notably broad shoulders. His dark brown hair is spiked upwards and he is wearing a warm, playful smile on his face. He’s wearing low riding, black skinny jeans that hug his hips and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. He’s wearing a clean, almost pristine, black leather jacket over the t-shirt that seems to be formatted to his body. In fact, all of his clothes seem to mold perfectly to his physic and is a clean, dark, brilliant shade of black. However, his most striking feature is his dark, almost foggy gray/blue eyes that capture the brothers in their commanding gaze.
Upon entering, the brothers freeze inside the motel room. The door swings closed on its own accord, but still doesn’t manage to get locked. They stare at the intruder until their senses come back to them.
Dean finds his voice. “Who the hell are you?”
The smile on the stranger’s face remains. The Winchester is answered by a deep, but soft-spoken voice, “Dean, don’t you recognize me?”
“Should I?”
The stranger tilts his head and his smile grows if that is even possible. With an air of teasing, the stranger replies, “Dean, I’m wounded. What does it say about you if you can’t recognize your own car?”
Sam projects a confused expression at the stranger’s offhanded suggestion. Dean on the other hand continues with a startled, “My what?”
The stranger pushes off the counter with his hip and steps gingerly towards the men in front of him. “That’s right Dean.” He halts a mere yard from the brothers. He rotates gracefully on the balls of his feet to face the kitchen with his hands on his hips. Then he throws a glance over his right shoulder and tries his best to lock eyes with Dean, ending rather cheekily with, “I’m your Baby.”
Dean’s reaction is one of pure mortification at the suggestive act. He tears his eyes away from the stranger’s, having his own land on the stranger’s leather jacket. On the back of the leather jacket in old white paint is a near perfect devil’s trap expanding across the stranger’s back with different smaller marks positioned on either of his hips. All of the marks are identical to the ones spray painted onto the inside hatch of the brother’s automobile parked outside in the lot.
The stranger chuckles lightly, returning to face the brothers. “Now do you recognize me?”
Dean appears to be resisting the urge of going into shock as he met the stranger’s eyes again. In a confused voice, he whispers “No, that’s not possible. Who are you?”
“I told you. I’m your car, Dean. I’m Baby.”
“Stop saying that and tell me who the hell you are.” Dean’s first response is to behave with hostility. Sam on the other hand has gotten over his initial panic of having a stranger in their space and doubles over laughing at the situation presented in front of him.
“No, no, you. Shut up.” He points at his younger brother accusingly. Dean enters his interrogation mode. “And you. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The stranger’s teasing smile fades. He relaxes into the warm welcome smile he had worn when the brothers first entered. He begins to tell his story.
“I knew it would be difficult. I knew to expect that you would be hostile at first. The thought of your car being a human is inane, right? Though, Sam seems to be taking the news awful well,” The stranger pauses. He grants Sam a look of udder adoration before continuing.
“Hello Sam, Dean,” he nods to each in turn. “I’m a shapeshifter. Actually, I’m the breed of shifter known as a Polymorph. Unlike other shifters you’ve encountered, I do not change my form into that of humans or animals but into inanimate objects. I most prefer to shift into cars or, more explicitly, the impala that you know me as. I’ve long since forgotten my human name, but you two know me as “The Impala” or “Baby”.”
“I’ve had three owners in my lifetime including yourselves. My first owner was a drunkard and a man of religion. He, after years without a day of maintenance, sold me to a dealership. The dealer, in turn, sold me to your father, after a bit of persuasion from you, as I recall Dean. In time, John gifted me to you. And we’ve been driving cross country with your brother ever since.”
“Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s completely ridiculous and impossible,” Dean attempts to reason. Sam on the other hand chuckles quietly at his brother’s distress.
“Not impossible Dean. Though to many people I’d think it’s safe to say that it’s highly improbable. But honestly, after all that you two have seen throughout your lives, including other breeds of shapeshifters, is it really so hard to believe over all? It was only a matter of time until you met any other breed of shifter you two find “irregular”,” the stranger reasons back. It would seem like he is trying to sooth the man in front of him, which he is.
“There aren’t multiple breeds of shapeshifters. Shifters can only mimic other people. Even if there were other breeds; hunters would know about them,” Dean argues aggressively. “Shifters can’t turn into objects, much less full-blown cars. And why the hell are you still laughing?”
Sam responds to his brother by saying, “Oh come on Dean. Is it really so hard to fathom? We’ve seen way stranger stuff. I think he’s telling the truth.”
“And why would I, of all people, lie to the two of you?” the stranger questions innocently.
“Okay, then prove it. Prove to me you’re a car,” Dean demands.
“Would you like me to change forms here?”
“Let’s not get tire tracks on the carpet. Is there anything else you could do to prove who you are without destroying the furniture or causing a scene outside?” Sam asks politely. Curious, above all, of what was to come.
“Of course.” With a single blink of his eyelids the stranger projects a bright, almost blinding yellow light from his eyes. With another blink, they return to their original, strange ewe. The brothers recognize the true color of the stranger’s irises. They are the same foggy gray as headlights on a car.
“Fine, I believe you’re a vehicle. That still doesn’t prove you are my car,” Dean barks harshly.
“Dean, what about the jacket?” Sam reminds his brother.
“No, it’s just a jacket. Anyone with limited knowledge can chalk one up in thirty seconds. No, unless you want me to start testing you in every way I’ve ever learned, I’m gonna need more.” Dean refuses to believe the man in front of him is his most prized possession.
“Short from completely transforming –” The stranger sweeps the bottom left side of his jacket behind him and pulls up the tail end of his shirt. “— there’s this.”
Written across the strangers left hip just above his low riding jeans in silver ink, mistakable for the mark of a tattoo, is a small symbol sitting in a circle and beside the symbol is a single word, Impala.
“Chevrolet is written across my back bumper if you’d like to see it,” the stranger suggests casually.
“No, it’s not enough,” Dean murmurs in denial, still refusing to believe the evidence.
“What can I do to convince you, Dean.” The stranger has desperation written across his face.
“Dean’s looking for another mark. Something that can’t be duplicated,” Sam states in a solemn tone.
“I see. Well…” The stranger says no more as he slides off his leather jacket and places it on one of the bar stools behind him. He faces the brothers and pulls up his left shirt sleeve. He reveals a shiny, faded scar forming the initials D.W on the soft inside of his arm. After revealing the left arm, the stranger drops the short sleeve from his hand and copies the action with his right arm, flashing the initials S.W in the same fashion.
The brothers stand in shock as their initials are revealed before them, carved into the stranger’s skin.
“But why,” Sam asks. The stranger waits for a more elaborate inquiry.
“Why are you telling us now? Why tell us at all. Assuming you never told our father since he would have killed you on the spot. You’ve been with me and Dean for years. You’ve had every opportunity, but you chose to tell us now. Why?”
The stranger gives a shrug and a smile. He slides his jacket back over his shoulders when he speaks. “Because I finally had a reason to.”
“And what’s that,” Dean and Sam ask in unison. Dean still sounding hostile, but now ready to listen to what the man has to say.
“This case you two have been following,” the stranger references while making quotation marks with his hands, “isn’t a case at all. You’ve been chasing other shapeshifters like myself that simply can’t be found.”
“And why’s that,” Sam nudges.
“Because none of us can be. Hunters have existed in the world as long as the human race itself. They have existed almost as long as most monsters have and in all this time no one has ever seen or heard rumor of shapeshifters that can turn into objects as you have confirmed yourself,” the stranger explains.
“And no one ever will. Not unless a shapeshifter wants itself to be known, like I myself have now done by showing myself to you. We simply move from one owner to the next, many often changing their shape between owners, while never once being detected. We are almost never missed by those we leave. If our previous owners do notice our disappearance, they simply replace us. No harm is ever done to either party. And we remain nameless.”
“Wait. You have a reason to tell someone yourself?” Sam probes again. “What’s your reason for telling us.”
“You two needed advice on this case, and I was the person capable of extending the knowledge to help you.”
“Thanks for the help. But there has to be more to it,” Dean counters.
“Believe me. I never wanted to revel myself to your father or to my owner before him. My specific type of breed is different from common shapeshifters or those like werewolves. Those of us who have learned to take the shape of inanimate objects live with humans. They give us a home and for the most part they take care of us.”
“In return, we live silently alongside them and protect them from afar without them ever being aware of our presence. But with you two, I’ve never felt a stronger need to protect a human in my life. In all honesty, I’ve wanted to tell the two of you for years of my true identity,” the stranger confesses sounding sincere yet unsure of himself or of his rightful place.
“What stopped you,” Sam asks hesitantly. He seems afraid to hear the answer.
“I was simply prolonging the inevitable. Trying to avoid this sort of welcoming if I’m being completely honest.”
Sam winces. He understands the stranger’s need for caution, especially after Dean’s interrogation which Sam knows could have been enacted with much more violence.
“But, there was also a very, very small chance of you two having found one of the shapeshifters you’re tracking while they are in the middle of transferring homes. If any human being is capable of accomplishing such a difficult task, it would be the two of you. If you had been able to identify them for what they are it would have been on my hands that they were discovered,” the man turned machine continues to explain his case. This seems to be the more technical or social explanation as to why he finally decided to reveal himself to the pair.
“Shapeshifters have a code, at least among our breed, to look out for one another. We can identify other shifters from humans or objects. It would have been my fault if I were to have allowed my current owners to discover and/or harm another shifter without even trying to intervene. Word gets passed around quickly, even faster if you didn’t kill the one you found. It would be me that the rest would blame, and I would have been labeled an outcast,” the stranger finishes gloomily.
“Outcast?” Dean questions, now curious himself. “By who? What if the shifter didn’t see you with us or there was nothing you could have done to stop us?”
“Another Shifter in the area could have seen the event as it took place. Shifters may be small in numbers and try to spread out, but there are multiple shifters in this town. It’s the population that attracts them. Or you wouldn’t have killed the shifter you found, and they would have seen me or gotten my scent off of you and know you were with a shifter of your own.”
“There were simply too many variables and I would have been blamed no matter the outcome. You two are my priority and I’m supposed to watch over you. It would be my fault. And with maybe two other shifters that register as “vehicles” in the country, I would be narrowed down very quickly. Shifters wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore and many would try to take my life after. Especially if the shifter you encountered was killed. If that were to occur, then we would all be in danger and I couldn’t let that happen. My only option would be to leave you, which I also refuse to do. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to discover my breed from another shifter. I wanted you to hear it from me,” the stranger concludes his winded explanation sounding equal amounts of shy, proud, protective, and matter of fact throughout his speech.
There was a moment of silence when the three men stood around the small room staring at each other. None of them knew the next move that needed to be made.
Eventually Sam had to ask the question: “What are you planning to do?”
Dean looks from Sam to ‘The Impala’ and asks in a much less hostel manner than before, “Now that you’ve revealed yourself to us and have completely dashed our chances of having a case, what do you plan to do?”
The Impala stops to consider the question. He knew what he wanted to say. What he was yearning to request from the two men across from him. But he knew he would almost certainly be shot down the moment he asked. He simply paused and considered how he should answer the question he was presented with.
“Well, we can forget this encounter ever happened. I can remain your car and leave you with the knowledge I’ve given you. Or…” The Impala trails off, still unsure of himself before finishing with, “…I can remain your car, but I can stop sleeping in the cold.”
Sam cracks a smile at the cleverly worded request. Dean, on the other hand, replies with a look of utter boredom. “Is there a third option?”
“Dean,” Sam scolds. “You can’t abandon your own car. You’re in love with your car,” Dean frowns at what he hopes was a joke which earns him a laugh from his younger counterpart.
Sam addresses the stranger, who is far less than a stranger than he originally believed. “You’re family, Impala.” Sam ventures a guess at what he should call the shifter. He receives a nod of approval from the man himself and he continues.
“And if what you say is true, and I for one believe it is, you protected our father for years and you’ve been with us for own whole lives. You’ll always have a place with us. Right Dean?”
The Impala looks shocked at the declaration from the youngest. He holds his breath in hopes of being accepted by the eldest.
All eyes are on Dean as he contemplates everything that had happened since he walked into the motel room with his brother. Everything the stranger had said seems to add up in his mind and Dean knows Sam believes the stranger’s story whole heartedly.
Dean isn’t sure what comes over him. Maybe it is the alcohol talking, but he decides to trust his younger brother’s intuition, like he has done countless times before, and he relents. “If what you say is true, then of course, you can stay with us. But if I find out you’re lying, I reserve the right to kill you,” Dean ends with a faint, but genuine smile.
“I expect nothing less. From either of you,” The Impala gushes. He is grinning wide and tears form at the corners of his eyes. He has just been accepted for who he is by the two people he loves most in the world. He finally has a home.
*A month later*
“Why don’t you call me Baby anymore,” The Impala questions from the open bathroom door.
“What,” Dean asks, startled. Dean sits down his second beer since he had retired to the motel room on the bar beside him. Dean had spent several hours with his brother and their new car-turned human-friend drinking, but he figured a few more beers before passing out wouldn’t kill him. Because, hey, nothing else could either.
Sam, The Impala, and he had gone out to the locally owned, town favorite bar for drinks. The Impala didn’t have many himself, spending most of his life as a car he didn’t have the immunity the brothers had, so he only drank enough for a buzz to start warming in his stomach. Sam and Dean however, managed to drink their fill. With the “case” turning out to be a bust the two were again back to square one. And with nothing else to do with their time, they might as well get wasted to help pass it along.
The three had picked a secluded booth at the front left corner of the building. They sat in the dark for hours talking and ordering new drinks every half hour like clockwork. The bar scene seemed to work well for Sam that night. He drank a glass more then he usually would have and ended up walking to the bar to start a conversation with a cute blonde that caught his eye.
Apparently the liquid courage worked in his favor since Dean didn’t see him shying away at the last minute or her tossing a glass of liquor in his face. In fact, she had a friend, and the last Dean saw of his little brother was him being dragged from the bar and out into a car by the blonde and a ginger. Dean knew he wouldn’t see Sam for the next two to twelve hours, depending on how much the group liked each other after their buzzes died off. Dean looked from the window beside him back to The Impala and saw the man had been watching the scene unfold as well. The Impala was shaking his head in disapproval, but nonetheless, he was grinning from ear to ear and laughing mutely to himself as the car drove off with Sam.
“He has as much game as you have, Dean,” The Impala commented as he turned back to match eyes with the remaining brother.
Dean shrugged it off and tried to act impassive, but the smirk remained seated on his face as he replied, “Yeah, he’s alright.” The truth on the other hand was Dean was proud of his little brother in that moment. Sam wasn’t usually the one to leave the other brother alone in the bar to walk back to the motel, but tonight Sam picked up two girls at once. Dean was honestly proud when he watched them drive off together and he was happy that at least his brother would be having some fun tonight.
“Come on. I don’t see you jumping at the opportunity to cart anyone back to the motel. Anyone catching your eye tonight?” The Impala asked suggestively, but Dean was too drunk to notice. Instead, Dean turned in his seat to face the bar at large. He scanned the building, every woman he could see from his seat, but none of them seemed to peek his interest.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “nah. Maybe I’m just not in the mood.”
The Impala full blown pouted in a playful way in front of the man sitting in the opposite booth, then the pout became real when Dean still refused to take notice. He suggested, “Want another drink? It’s not like we have anything else going on tonight.”
“I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer, you haven’t had a drink in over an hour. No, I think it’s time to turn in. I’m tired anyway.”
“Alright if that’s what you want. Meet me out back, okay?”
Dean nodded and the two parted ways, taking separate doors out of the building.
By the time Dean left the bar and walked around to the back of the building The Impala was once again in his automobile form. Dean had yet to become used to the idea that every time he was driving his beloved car he was also driving a human being, but The Impala had insisted that if he hadn’t cared before he wasn’t going to start caring now.
Dean tried to act casual as he slid effortlessly into his designated seat. With a turn of his keys in the ignition the engine roared to life and the whole car seemed to purr under the man’s weight.
A short drive back to the motel and twenty-minutes spent between them as they took showers, and we find Dean seated on his bed in front of a muted TV with a beer sitting on the close at hand counter. The Impala is standing patiently outside the bathroom door. His hair is damp, his black T-shirt is clinging tightly to his chest, and he is wearing low riding gray sweat pants he borrowed from Sam.
Dean is staring across the room to the hallway which The Impala is occupying, a deer in the headlights look on his face.
“Why don’t you call me Baby anymore? It’s been weeks since you found out that I’m actually human. Since then you haven’t called me Baby in either form, even when Sam isn’t around.” He crossed his arms and appears to be hurt by the social change. “I just want to know why.”
Dean seems lost, like he doesn’t know how to respond. He answers rather lamely with, “I just can’t.” Dean flinches at the answer, but it’s the only one he can bring himself to give.
The Impala is truly hurt now. Dean’s reason was neither an appropriate nor acceptable.
“No, that isn’t enough.” The Impala shakes his head. This is the first time Dean has seen the generally upbeat man wear a genuine frown on his handsome face. “Please, tell me why.”
“Because you’re a guy.” Dean’s voice rises in volume and pitch. This time he has the decency to close his eyes and marvel at how stupid the answer he gave was, though he believes his words to be true. He knows The Impala, his beloved vehicle, is human and he is a male. Dean just simply can’t bring himself to do what The Impala is asking of him.
“That’s what you’re worried about? Really,” The Impala barks out a crude laugh. “You’ve been less drunk than you are now and have been with men.”
“What? How could you possibly know that,” Dean both confesses and asks the man in front of him with a panicked voice.
“Dean I drove you to and from those boys’ houses’ and you tend to talk out loud a little too much when you’re alone with me,” The Impala answers. A mixture of jealousy and ruefulness settles as a grimace on his once gentle face.
“Well, it doesn’t mean anything. It was so long ago; I was in my twenties. I was young and didn’t know what I was doing because, as you pointed out, I was drunk,” Dean begins to defend himself.
“Dean,” The Impala starts, a bit quieter, “you can’t lie to me. I know you better than anyone. Like I said, you talk a lot when we’re alone.” The Impala wears a knowing smile coupled with a strange look in his eyes that Dean can’t quite yet place.
In the time it takes The Impala to communicate his message, he drifts silently from the hall way to the counter. He leans his weight over the bar on his crossed arms. The new vantage point allows him to look down at Dean on the bed. Like a predator sizing up its prey.
“It still doesn’t mean anything. It was years ago. College years man. I was young and stupid and drunk.” Dean regurgitates the words like a memorized script. There’s a chance that may be a practiced monologue. “It didn’t mean anything then and it doesn’t mean anything now.”
“Oh, but we both know that’s not quite true. Don’t we?” The Impala practically purrs. “I remember those days as clear as if they had happened yesterday. I have an elephant’s memory. You liked being with those boys, each and every one of them, even more than you wanted to admit to either of us. And yet you did.”
“No, I didn’t. I may have done it, but it was a mistake, and it’s over,” Dean states firmly. “End of story. Can we drop the subject please?”
“You’re not the type of man to make the same mistake twice Dean, much less periodically. No, this isn’t over until you admit it to me and to yourself. You liked being with those boys and you know it,” The Impala sounds childish with his teasing. And, though he may have been smiling, he is entirely serious about the matter at hand.
Maybe it is caused by how much Dean had to drink, but he finds himself giving in a little too easily by admitting, “Okay, fine. I liked it, but that still doesn’t mean anything.”
“So, you’re saying, out loud in front of the gods’ and everybody, that you liked being with men?”
“Yes, alright, fine. I liked being with men. Happy?” Dean turns pink in the face as he speaks the truth. It had been years since he had let himself think in such a way.
“Then why do you have a problem calling me Baby,” The Impala demands.
“Because I can’t. You’re a man and I’m not gay,” Dean states defensively.
The Impala smiles and laughs lightly as he glides his way around the counter top to lean his back against it. “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I’m not,” Dean answers. Though he isn’t quite sure to what in response.
“The words you use to describe yourself do not prevent you from calling me Baby,” The Impala says in a matter of fact tone.
“I didn’t know before,” Dean pouts. His cheeks grow darker as the conversation progresses. He is now refusing to meet the man’s gaze which has advanced, less than two feet from his personal space – his safety net.
“Oh please. You knew. My impala form is a muscle car. You knew from the very first time you drove me. The moment you shifted me into gear. And you still called me ‘Baby’. It would be no different today.”
“It’s different because you are human.” Dean wants to argue, he feels like he needs to, but he is interrupted.
The Impala pushes off the counter. He leans over Dean’s form, causing Dean himself to lean backwards on his hands, and he whispers, “I just want you to call me Baby. Is that really too much to ask?”
“I can’t. I’m not…” Dean begins but is once again interrupted midsentence. Only this time it is by The Impala brushing his lips faintly against Dean’s below his own.
Dean reacts as though his body has been shot full of electricity and bolts from the bed. He moves into the kitchen to gain distance between himself and The Impala. He face burns a shade of red and for a moment he seems unable to connect his brain to his mouth to form a rebuttal.
“Oh, come on Dean. I’m sorry, but you don’t have to run from me,” The Impala tries to soothe the other man as he follows him the short distance into the kitchen. In truth, there is nowhere for Dean to go without leaving the motel.
“Why did you do that,” Dean asks both scared and confused. He paces the length of the kitchen between either walls before coming to rest his back against the sink.
“Because I care for you Dean. And I want you to care for me.”
“I do care for you, but why would you do that.” Dean refers back to the kiss, searching for an explanation.
“Because I’ve watched you your whole life. I’ve watched you learn and grow. And I’ve watched you turn into a great man. A good man. I care about you Dean and I want you to care about me.”
“What about Sam?”
“I love Sam. Absolutely, I do. With everything in me. Just not in the same way. Not in a romantic way…” The Impala’s voice dies off at the tail end of his admission.
“Romantic,” Dean repeats. He is confused and hurt by The Impala’s action. Confused because he doesn’t understand his own feelings, confused because he swore he would never again let such an interaction occur. And hurt because The Impala had acted when Dean clearly hadn’t wanted him to.
And then a new emotion takes root. It’s anger, but it isn’t necessarily aimed at the other man. For a brief instant, Dean is angry with himself for having such vial and negative feelings towards The Impala whom he knows would never hurt him. This thought reignites his confusion all over again in a never-ending cycle.
“Yes Dean, in a romantic way,” The Impala whispers back. As the conversation takes place, The Impala inches towards Dean a mere half step at a time. He is being careful in his approach. He views Dean as if he were a timid animal that will run upon being startled.
“I’ve watched over you for many years and I’ve grown to care for you very deeply. I love you, Dean. And I want a chance to be with you,” The Impala confesses uncharacteristically shy. For the second time since the two men had come face to face, The Impala is completely unsure of his place. Yet, he has never been more sure of his words and feelings towards the scared man in front of him who also happens to be doubting himself in this moment. “And now that you know about me, we can be together, if only you can allow yourself to be.”
There is a single tile of floor space between them. Dean noticed when The Impala began moving closer to him which caused him to fix his gaze on the ground. He is refusing to look at any part of the other man. The Impala waits patiently for a reply that seems will never come on its own.
After a minute, The Impala asks in a way that is supposed to convey encouragement, “Dean, please talk to me.”
“You’re a car.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re a man.”
“Yes, I am.”
There is another long pause where Dean seems to be contemplating something. Finally, he finds the courage to ask, in a voice that is hardly audible to himself, “Why do you want to be with me?”
“Because I love you, Dean Winchester. I’ve been with you your whole life, watched over you and cared for you from a far. And you’ve always done right by me. You’ve trusted me, above everyone else, with your problems and doubts. So why can’t you trust me now,” The Impala asks in a pleading, seemingly damaged tone.
“But I’m not…”
“No. Strictly speaking, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re not attracted to men. Or me, specifically. We’ve already proven that. And don’t forget, I’ve seen you in all of your relationships, most being women, and almost all of them have never mattered to you in the slightest.”
“That’s not true!” Dean standing up straight and locks eyes dead on with the man for the first time since the conversation began.
“Lisa…Yes, I know you care for her and that child. I’m still not completely convinced that he isn’t yours. But nonetheless, you’ve said it yourself, you can’t be with her. It’s too dangerous for the both of them.”
Dean bows his head in defeat. He knows what The Impala says is true. Dean remains silent for a total of five minutes to contemplate all that has happened since the conversation began. Everything that was said by The Impala. And The Impala gives him the time to do so.
The Impala took a step back after Lisa had entered the conversation. He understands he had taken a step too far and he had no intension of bringing up the passed relationship to begin with. The Impala knows all of Dean’s weakest points and he has never wanted to use any of them against Dean. His goal was never to hurt the man he cared about most in this world and yet…
The Impala regrets what he said to Dean, so he decides to give him the space he needs to think about all that transpired between them. The Impala would give Dean Eternity if he had asked if that was what Dean needed. And yet, those five minutes were the longest in The Impala’s unnaturally long life.
Dean contemplates everything The Impala said. It was in fact true, Dean had been with dozens of people throughout his life, both men and women. But for the majority of each of his relationships they had been one-night stands and he held no feelings for a majority of them. There were few relationship that he was in over the years were he felt genuine feelings for his partners. Most of them had been with women and, if Dean was honest with himself, any feelings he held were based solemnly on a need to protect those around him or, more often than not, the relationship was based more on friendship than sex. The only person he had ever admitted to truly loving was Lisa and, as it had been laid out for him countless times, he could never be with her.
Dean’s mind shifts rapidly to think about The Impala himself and how he had said he wanted to be with Dean. How he claimed to love him and wanted to care for and be with him. Dean doubts his own worth with a single thought and can’t bring himself to believe the man he has spent the last month with can actually care for him at all.
And finally, Dean thinks back to the kiss. The kiss so faint Dean had hardly felt it on his lips and yet had over reacted so fiercely in such a negative way you would have thought the kiss was a full body impact. The first kiss he had had in weeks, his first kiss with another man in years. The kiss that had been so hesitant because the man who had enforced it didn’t want to push Dean passed what he was comfortable with. The kiss that was so light and quick Dean had no memory of it beyond that, yes, it had happened.
As Dean thinks this, he finds himself wanting to repeat the action. The realization that comes with that very thought is even more shocking than the event itself. But, it is then that he realizes he wants to kiss the man on the other side of the miniscule kitchen. He wants to know the feeling of the man’s skin against his own. Wants to feel the movement of his lips…To know the taste of the other man’s mouth…
This thought is what brings the silent man back to his voice. The voice that comes out so quiet The Impala actually has to step back into Dean’s space to hear what is being asked of him. The voice so timid and shy that it doesn’t match the man it belongs to. The voice is even foreign to the man using it: inaudible and terrified.
“Do you honestly want to be with me?” Dean’s voice is shaky with the fear of being rejected yet again by another person who he cares deeply for. Someone Dean has truly confided in, long before he even knew of the man’s existence.
The Impala cocks his head to the side and chuckles to himself before answering in the most honest tone of voice Dean had ever heard. “Dean Winchester, I have been head over heels for you for decades. I have watched over and protected you since you were born. And I would do anything to stay with you for the rest of my life. Dean, nothing in this world would make me happier than if you would allow me the opportunity to be with you.”
With a declaration of love proclaimed once more, The Impala wait with bated breath for Dean’s next move.
Dean is taken aback when he hears The Impala’s declaration and finds himself wanting nothing more than for it to be the truth. And it is then, on a drunken whim, that Dean decides to trust the man’s word. “Kiss me then.”
“Excuse me,” The Impala asks, honestly afraid he had simply misheard.
“Will you kiss me again?”
The Impala pauses. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t quite hear you.” Now, of course, The Impala had heard the request the second time it was spoken, but since Dean was admitting his feelings towards him The Impala couldn’t help but to tease the poor man, even just a little.
Again, for the second time in a long while, Dean makes eye contact with the man mere inches from himself and in his natural, gruff, powerful voice, he demands, “Kiss me damn it. Like you mean it!”
It’s as if a switch is flipped in the room. The Impala surges forward to close the gap between their bodies. His arms fly out on either side of Dean to brace himself against the counter. He presses his body into Dean’s to push him further into the sink as he leans into him the other man, kissing him hard.
And Dean reciprocates. He leans his back against the counter. His hands instinctively reach out to grab The Impala’s hips and pull their bodies’ together.
When they connect, bodies flush, The Impala makes a sound of contentment low in the back of his throat, releasing all his self-control to Dean to do with him as he pleases.
The two remained in the kitchen for less than a minute, taking time to devour each other and deciding on an even pace with which to grind their hips together, before Dean begins pushing into The Impala, directing the shorter man towards his bed. Stumbling only once, the two are able to maneuver around the bar. They only break apart for as long as it takes to remove their shirts and for Dean to push The Impala onto the bed. Dean follows closely, landing on top of The Impala and the two lie together flat across the small bed.
The Impala’s right hand finds purchase in Dean’s hair, tugging lightly as to encourage his partner’s exploring hands. Dean’s becomes confident, in a role he recalls and knows all too well, and his hands move from The Impala’s hips slowly up his abdomen. He maps The Impala’s strong muscular figure, grazing each set of ribs only to palm at his chest greedily. Dean stops long enough to admire the skin exposed to him before his mouth latches onto a collar bone and slowly eases down the strong body that rests under him, leaving nips and bite marks and kisses in his wake.
For the next hour or more the mostly dark room is filled with the sounds of constantly shifting sheets and the steady creaking of a bed frame. The sound of shoes and a belt connecting harshly with the floor. Heavy panting and whispered curses. Gently spoken endearments which later turn into loud demands, only to subside to desperate requests. Names shouted into the open room upon each new wave of pleasure followed by the sound of lips gently suck skin. And the sound of blood pumping continuously through the men’s’ bodies so loudly in their ears that they are each convinced any neighboring rooms can hear their hearts pounding as well.
In the end the two came together. The Impala, silent, face buried in Dean’s shoulder as he drew blood from a dark bruise he had spent so long crafting with the utmost care. He continued to cling to Dean’s back as he rode out his orgasm. His short nails scraping across Dean’s skin which left erratic traces while red, hot iron passed between his dry lips and traveled down his throat or left a trail down his slightly tanned neck to pool at the center of his chest. Dean on the other hand came loudly with a final snap of his hips. He held The Impala’s hips with enough strength to leave hand prints, throwing his head back, and for the first time in a week allowing himself to speak, or rather scream, the name…“BABY!”
XXXXXX
The next day, Sam returns to the quiet room at eleven in the morning. House cleaning has already come and gone with the passage of the sunrise. The Impala sits at the bar, fully clothed in his all black attire, finishing a private lunch. Dean steps out of the bathroom as Sam removes his outer layer, fully clothed as well and clean from his shower. Like Sam, Dean is recovering from a hangover and he offers a low grunt in greeting upon seeing his younger brother return. The Impala looks up from his plate and offers Sam a plate of his own as another form of greeting.
Half an hour later, Dean slams the trunk of the car closed and docks inside, shutting himself in the driver’s seat seemingly without another thought. Sam on the other hand walks to the passenger side of the car and taps the roof of The Impala kindly (both as a form of affection and inquiring permission to enter as he has recently grown accustomed to doing over the last month) before lowering himself into his seat.
A moment later, they are driving down another back road leading out of Bozeman, Mt. Sam is gazing out the side window lost to the world in his own thoughts. The Impala is allowing Dean to drive like he always does, currently choosing to be unconscious while in his car form.
Dean on the other hand is intensely focused on the road. He refuses to let his eyes, or his mind, wander from the asphalt, least his thoughts travel to the events of the previous night in the old motel room which he is intent on putting in his rearview mirror.
It’s not that Dean has any regrets. Far from it. He can’t remember the last time his mind was so clear, or his body was so relaxed, or when either felt so rested.
When Dean woke this morning, his nose was buried deep in soft hair and a strange mixture of smells like car wax and oil and earth entered his system after taking a deep breath. The heavy weight of The Impala had been lying bare on his chest and the pressure was comforting. After basking in the glorious feeling of the morning after that Dean has never before allowed himself to experience, he carefully slid out of bed and tucked the blanket tighter around the man still snoring softly in the sheets.
While showering, Dean replayed the events of the night before several times over. The first initial kiss which led to a deep and weighted conversation which led to heart felt confessions and to what ultimately ending up being quite possibly the best sex Dean has experienced. Dean ended up fisting his dominant hand between his legs, his left forming a fist in his mouth as he came on the tiled wall in front of him. His head drowning in thoughts of dark eyes and rough hands.
Dean dressed in his usual attire of jeans and plaid while letting his mind and body accept the fact that he was, in fact, in love with the man he had spent the night with. He regretted absolutely nothing that had passed between him and The Impala during the early hours of the morning. He was in love, and he was happy about it.
As Dean stood in the mirror, he ran his hands through his hair and positioned his shirt to cover the bruise sitting on his collarbone before leaving the bathroom. He had planned on scrounging for food to share with his new partner. Upon leaving the small room, he discovered Sam had returned to the motel after his exciting night out on the town. The three ended up eating cold pizza from the fridge that they had ordered two nights before on either side of the bar. Sam spun an exciting tale of his romp with the girls he had disappeared with while Dean and The Impala sat completely enthralled and a bit impressed by the younger Winchester, their knees barely touching out of Sam’s line of vision.
Despite Dean’s personal wishes, he found his thoughts wondering to this area of his mind. Recalling the breakfast, he had shared with his new found interest and his brother, he decided that he would eventually tell Sam. He had to, of course, and he would, but not today. He knew Sam would understand and be pleased for the both of them. His primary reason for holding off the information was that he wanted to prolong the inevitable teasing that would ensue shortly after.
Yes, it is not as though Dean regrets the night before. He is merely disappointed to think of all the time that has gone by, wasted in a way (though it may have been without his knowledge and beyond his control) and instead he is wishing to start looking ahead towards the future. He can’t foresee himself ever letting another opportunity slip by him again. His new plan is to seize every moment as it comes.
After coming to this conclusion, he is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the radio changing songs over the car’s speakers. He remembers this song had played when he entered Bozeman and found it ironic that it was being played as he left. It’s one of Dean’s favorite songs and he turns the volume up with the crank of a nob. Dean listens intently to the song he knows well and sings along softly.
“Ramble on and now’s the time, the time is now, to sing my song.”
As he sings, he stares longingly at the hood of his car and strokes the steering wheel gently.
“Gotta find the queen of all my dreams…”
This song has always been close to Dean.
“I’m going around the world, I got to find my girl, on my way.”
The only thing that has changed since the last time he heard this song is now he has someone he can finally sing it to.
“Gonna ramble on, sing my song. Gotta keep-a-searchin’ for my baby…”
The song fades as The Impala is driven out of the small town. Dean lowers the volume of the radio once more, returning it to play at low vibrations. Dean keeps a bright smile on his face the entire drive to the party’s next location.
*Four Months Later*
Dean left the motel not five minutes after Sam who had left to do some solo investigating on a case the brothers are currently working on.
The brothers and The Impala have been in the same general area, working a small haunted town case for the last nine days, and the three have been sharing a motel room for the same length of time.
It has been five months since The Impala revealed himself to the Winchesters. It has been four months since the incident which brought Dean and The Impala together. And, frustratingly, it has been almost a month since the new couple had last had sex. This is the longest period the pair has gone without having been together since becoming an item and Dean is becoming aggravated by the fact that he can’t be intimate or simply openly affectionate with the man he loves like he wants to be for the very reason that the two of them still haven’t told Sam. And because Dean was becoming so agitated with his current situation and knew he needed to focus on the case at hand, he decided he was going to take matters into his own hands and correct his little predicament himself.
Dean ran out the door with The Impala following behind him without the need of an explanation. After a quick and seemingly painful, yet quiet change, the two were driving fifteen miles over the speed limit in a direction that took them out of town.
One uneventful commute later, Dean pulls the vehicle to a stop in the middle of an open field and puts the car in park. He takes a few minutes to sit quietly in his stationary vehicle and examine his surroundings before deciding on exactly what he is going to do.
Dean had driven out of his way to leave the town he knew his brother was working in, down several barren roads, and through patches of trees not even formidable enough to be labeled woods, until he finally turned off the road into an open field. Looking around himself now, he sees that he is sitting a mile or more from the road side to his left and he has not seen another car on the road with him in the last twenty minutes. The field he is in is covered in short, dry grass and holds very few trees. A short twig of a sprouting pine tree is ten feet from the car and the only obstacle obstructing Dean from the view of the road. It offers little shade and even less coverage of the car, but Dean decides with so little traffic in the area he won’t need cover at all.
After assessing his surroundings and deciding that he wasn’t going to find a better area for his intentions, he musters a little courage and clambers out of his car, shutting the door behind him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slides his flannel shirt off his shoulders, and throws it through the open car window to land in the passenger’s seat. He starts to trace slow, methodical circles around the car. As he moves, he gingerly traces his hand across The Impala’s badges and over his sliver colored back bumper.
The Impala makes a clicking sound, as if the blinker of the car is turned on briefly, in question to Dean’s actions as he passes by his trunk.
“Ssshh. Just go with me on this,” Dean answers in a soothing voice, talking slow and calm. He continues to speak as he takes strides around the vehicle, his eyes scanning over the impala hungrily. His hands roam over the vehicle at random points as he stalks powerfully around his beloved car. “Since we’re on a case and Sam still doesn’t know about us, we haven’t had any alone time in a while. So, I’ve taken it upon myself, being the oh-so-loving boyfriend that I am, to change that.”
Dean returns to the front of the car for a final time and faces it head on. He takes a few steps backwards away from the black car to admire it in silence. He gazes through the windshield, hardly able to find his own reflection, then slowly, methodically, removes his gray t-shirt to reveal his toned torso. In the light of the afternoon sun Dean begins to sweat as the heat of the day wears on him as much as his own thoughts already had been and the irises of his eyes fill in with the blacks of his dilated pupils. Dean’s stiff length is visible through his blue denim jeans and, now that he has blatantly revealed his intentions to his partner, his breathing has changed. It is laborious.
The Impala’s head lights come on to shine brightly against Dean’s figure, placing him in a sort of spot light.
“It’s been too long, Baby.” Dean’s voice is husky. He smiles before his face again becomes neutral and his attention returns to the task at hand. He approaches the car as calmly as he is capable, taking slow steps, and tosses his shirt onto the roof of the car.
Dean’s hands splay flat across the hood as his pelvis connects with the front grill and he starts to grind his hips against the vehicle.
At once, the car springs to life. Its engine ignites, vibrating intently underneath the hood Dean rests against, adding to the warmth of the metal under the man’s body.
“Fuck,” Dean grunts roughly into the hood of the car absorbing the pulsating energy into his chest. Dean had been building up this game the entire hour-long drive out to the field and though it had turned him on, he hadn’t expected to be so genuinely effected by the scenario.
The sound of the engine grows louder in his ears as he grows closer to his release. Not wanting to break the spell too early, he forces himself to slow his thrusts until he is motionless against the car. Not waiting to regain his breath, he kisses the hood of the car messily and pushes off it only to crawl atop of it. Once he is sitting squarely in the middle of the car, he leans his bare back against the glass of the windshield warmed by the sun and spreads his legs across the car. Dean takes time to rub himself through his constricting jeans, calmly teasing himself as The Impala would, before popping open the button and pulling down the zipper.
Dean lowers his jeans to free his member from its confining space between his legs. He groans loudly, wrapping his right hand around the base of his shaft and throws his left hand to the side, putting it through the open window and grabbing onto the frame of the car. Dean feels, so much as he listens to, the hum of the engine under his weight as he slowly begins to move his hand up and down his length.
Up and down, slowly picking up speed and adding a twist of his wrist or a trace of his thumb over the sensitive head every few strokes. Dean’s hand moves along his throbbing cock as he nears his orgasm once more. Moaning deeply to himself, he bends his right knee on the car for leverage and his hips begin to meet his hand with every thrust. A minute later, he comes in his hand and over his sweat slicked abdomen. His head bangs against the roof of the car leaving the name ‘Baby’ hanging as a silent scream on his dried lips.
He sits on the hood of the running car for several moments, panting heavily. The Impala turns itself off and waits passively for Dean to recover. Dean feels around the roof for his shirt and, once in his hand, uses it to clean his hand and chest while simultaneously tucking himself away. He rolls over to straddle the hood of the car and kisses the windshield sweetly before sliding backwards off the vehicle. He wears a lazy smile on his lips as he gently pats the hood of the car and walks to the driver’s door. Replacing his soiled t-shirt on the passenger’s seat, he dresses in his red checkered shirt and slides into the driver’s seat. He places the keys into the ignition and drives back to town in peaceful bliss with his vehicle.
Once back at the motel, Dean backs The Impala into a parking spot behind the building underneath the shade of a tree. The space is out of sight of anyone who would happen to be passing by which makes it a perfect spot for The Impala to change back into his human form. Well, almost.
After a fast and majestic change from car to human, The Impala stands on two feet once more dressed in his black attire and grabs Dean’s face in both of his hands. With his voice returned to him, he proclaims loudly and possessively, “I fucking love you.”
The two men kiss passionately before separating a mere inch to breathe leaving Dean the room to ask, “So, you liked your surprise?”
“I loved it and we have to do it again.” The Impala is grinning ear to ear.
They walk side by side to the building and enter the first motel room they come to.
Inside, they find Sam at the far end of the room. He’s is sitting at a small round table with his back to a large window while facing the TV. His computer is open, and a bottle of beer is half empty on the table. Both have recently been forgotten.
When the men walk into the room, Sam greets them by saying, “Next time you two need some alone time, feel free to ask me to leave. There’s no need to be sneaking off into the woods. I’m more than happy to leave you to it.”
Sam remains neutral, though it is no easy task with the look on his brother’s face.
“How did you know,” Dean asks his younger brother confusedly. A look akin to shock occupying his face.
“Oh, you mean besides the fact that I live with you?” Sam points a thumb over his shoulder out the window behind him.
Dean leans further into the room to follow Sam’s hand and look outside the large window of their motel room to see the empty parking space where he and The Impala had come from.
“Oh,” Dean says aloud, smiling shyly before looking down at his feet, now embarrassed at having been caught. Sam smiles back warmly at his older brother before joining the men at the door.
“We were going to tell you,” The Impala begins. Sam shakes his head, amused.
“I’ve known for a while. It’s not a big deal,” Sam assures his friend. “I’m just glad to see you happy,” he whispers to Dean as he pulls his sibling into an embrace.
“I am. Thanks Sammy,” Dean whispers back.
“And you,” Sam threatens playfully, pointing a finger to the shorter man, “If you hurt my brother, I’m going to hurt you.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” The Impala replies. He embraces the younger Winchester as well.
Its Sam who asks, “Who’s up for a drink?”
The new couple agree, and the three men go out for a night on the town to celebrate the couples' new relationship.