Dean's Baby and Sam
Title:Dean's Baby and Sam (AO3)
Author:evelyncarver
Recipient:princess_schez
Rating:Teen
Warnings:foul language, mild violence, mild gore
Author's Notes:Set in early season 2. Many thanks to my two betas who really helped me with the flow of the story and give me the ideas to come up with an ending.
Summary: Two cases in the Winchesters lives get mixed together with unexpected consequences. When small towns don't have taxis and the contents of their car are strewn over the road, the case becomes much more difficult than Sam expected.
Summergen 2014 Fic #1
--
Sam turned down the radio and lifted his foot off the gas. The Impala's throaty purr spluttered in response. Something wasn't right with the car. A quick glance confirmed Dean was still sleeping next to him in the front seat. They'd been having a rough couple of weeks, between Dean almost dying and an unending series of hunts, this should be a simpler case with time for them to breathe.
The engine groaned again, or maybe it was something in the brake line. Sam slowed and pulled off the road, small stones stirring up in the mess around them.
"Dean." He shook his brother's shoulder roughly. "Wake up, Dean!"
Dean grumbled but opened his eyes before Sam had to shake him again. "Yeah?"
"There's something wrong with the car. It's making a weird noise."
The news was like a slap to the face that woke his brother in an instant. Dean pushed open the passenger-side door with Sam quickly after him. As his brother popped the hood and looked at the burning hot interior, Sam rushed to the trunk for the tool kit, confident in Dean’s skills as a mechanic.
"Well?" Sam demanded as he put the tool kit on the ground in front of the shuddering Impala. “What’s going on?”
"I need more than a minute," Dean complained and then something happened.
The car shone brightly, and the air around it seemed to shimmer. Sam stumbled backwards as quickly as he could, the Impala glowed and the noise came back as it sputtered to life, the engine revving before his vision whited out.
Sam fell back onto the gravel, blinking the bright white blindness from his eyes. It was still dark, the moon was a little higher in the sky, and the car wasn't there. There were no tire tracks, nothing showing where the car had driven back onto the road. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Dean kneeling next to a figure on the cold ground.
"Dean?" Sam got up, his back bruised and sore. Slowly, he limped over to his brother. "What's going on?"
The first aid kit was open. What looked like the entire contents of the car, glove box to trunk, was spread out on the ground, all stacked as if the car had disappeared around them and they'd fallen straight to the earth.
Sam squatted next to the body in the dirt and looked to Dean for explanation. "Did something happen to the car?"
"I think. . ." Dean took a deep breath and rolled the body off of its side and onto its back. "I think this is her."
Sam took in the body, no, the woman. Her chest was slowly rising and falling, stretching out the black leather jacket she was wearing. With a shock, Sam realized all of her clothes resembled the leather interior of the Impala, as if someone had skinned their car for clothes. Her face was lightly lined with age, her hair was dark and curly, and her skin was only a few shades lighter than the black of the Impala's paint job.
Sam wondered how his brother's personification of the car had managed to turned into this attractive middle-aged black woman resting on the ground in front of him. "This is the Impala?"
"I think so." Dean shook her, "She feels real enough. I don't think she's hurt." His hands skimmed lightly over her body, checking for wounds and appreciating the new for his car had taken. "Hey, wake up." He shook her again.
She stirred then, stretching out. When her legs extended, they settled in the pile of stuff that had been in the trunk and her back arched and her head touched the box of ids that belonged in the glove box. Ever so slowly, she rolled over and opened her eyes.
"Hey." Dean moved back, giving her some space. "You okay?"
The woman smiled revelling bright white teeth. Her eyes were dark and shone like the Impala's headlights on a dark road. "Dean." Her voice was deep and rough, like the growl of the car's engine.
"Yeah, yeah, it's me." Dean offered her his hand and she sat up, a rain of gravel falling from her hair. "Are you okay?"
She stood up and stretched again. She was tall, very tall, at least as tall as Dean. Sam glanced at her feet: she was wearing dark leather boots with flat soles. He thought with a set of heels, she’d be looking him straight in the eyes. "I think so," she said and pressed her body against Dean's.
"Glad to hear it," Dean stepped away from her. "We should stow this stuff and get going. Don’t need the local cops on our tails if they find us out here with all that,” he nudged a battle axe with the toe of his boot.
Sam picked up one of the maps from the pile. "I think we're about. . .here." He pointed to a place on the road map and slid his finger along to the next tiny town.
The Impala woman bent over the map, her hair tickling his arm. "No, we're closer than that. My tires lost a lot of tread in the last twenty-four hours, thank you very much. " She touched the map and Sam noticed her fingernails were painted with a shiny silver colour. "About here." She scuffed the dirt under her boots and looked back at the road.
"Fine, it's a little closer." Sam folded up the map and looked at their things spread out on the road. "How are we going to deal with this?" They could carry their duffels, but there were enough weapons to get them locked up for a very long time if anyone passed by and chose to call the cops.
They stowed the heavier stuff in the shelter of the woods nearby. The overgrown weeds would mask it from anyone who managed to make it down this deserted stretch of road, and they could retrieve it once the Impala was back to her normal form.
"Let me help," The woman offered, holding up the big back backpack she carried. Although Dean was reluctant, they managed to fill it up with some of the smaller things they might be needing. Dean and Sam stowed their guns, shovels, and rock salt in their duffels and started down the road.
They walked towards the town, still at least fifteen miles away, but what other choices did they have? The woman led the way, walking with purpose along the edge of the highway. Sam noticed she didn't lift her feet all of the way off of the ground. Each step sounded like the gentle rub of tires as the car ate up the miles.
Forty minutes in Sam found himself lagging behind with his heavy duffel. He fell in step with Dean some thirty paces behind their car's new form. From the look on Dean’s face, it was obvious his brother was trying to suss out the situation.
"So?" Sam asked, his voice low.
"What?" Dean hefted his bag up higher.
"The Impala Dean, this isn't normal."
Dean shrugged. "We'll figure it out. Besides, nothing terrible has happened. She's fine and kinda hot."
Sam looked at the woman again. His view of her body was mostly blocked by the giant backpack she was wearing, but she wasn't Dean's usual type. She was older and tall, and Dean liked young blond girls, not women who were old enough to be his mother. "Really?"
"Don't be a racist." Dean elbowed him. "No, we'll try to hitch a ride once we get closer, and I'll give Bobby a call tonight."
"What about the case?" Sam asked, they had been coming to this town for a reason. Three men had been killed, run over by their wives or girlfriends in the past month. It had been just enough of a pattern to catch their attention.
"We've gotta deal with this first," Dean declared, his voice rising. He smiled and waved when the woman turned around. "C'mon Sam, we need her, but in the car form. Unless you'd like to walk everywhere for this case?"
Sam sped up and left Dean lagging behind. The Impala was keeping a steady pace, and it took him a moment to get in the groove of her speed. "What should I call you?"
"Dean calls me baby," She told him, looking back over her shoulder again.
"How about for other people?" Sam asked. "Something I could call you? Or other people that don't know you like Dean does?"
"Both of you have been inside of me," she reminded him. "But Dean takes care of me."
Sam nodded slowly wondering just how much of their lives she knew about. "Sure. So Baby?"
She shook her head. "Just Dean. He's the one that talks to me. There's a car coming." She stepped off of the road and watched expectantly.
Dean caught up with them before the promised car appeared. "What's the hold up?"
"Apparently a car's coming." Sam heard the low rumble of an engine before the car rounded the bend.
A dirty pickup truck driven by a farmer headed into the town's bar for the night screeched to a halt when Baby stuck out her thumb for a ride. The driver was happy to let them sit in the flatbed once Sam slipped him a twenty, even offered to drop them off at the only motel on his way to the bar.
"Thanks again." Sam climbed out of the truck in the motel parking lot. He shook the guy's hand. "Take care."
"Dean has gone to get us a room." The woman told Sam, as if he couldn't see that for himself.
Sam nodded and put his bag back on over his shoulder. "Yeah. Are you hungry?" he asked her, staring a little wistfully at the diner and bar across the road. The smell of grease and frying meat and potatoes was heavy in the air, and it made his stomach growl.
She shook her head. "I don't need fuel yet."
"Room nine." Dean called across the parking lot. The motel had actual keys for the rooms, and it wasn't too terrible for a grungy one horse town.
They dumped their burdens on the floor, and Sam checked his wallet for cash before digging out a water bottle and re-hydrating after their long walk. "Ready for supper?" he asked, heading for the bathroom.
"In a minute," Dean answered.
When Sam finished in the bathroom, Dean and his Baby were deep in conversation. He'd gotten her to take off her leather jacket, and underneath she was wearing some sort of fluffy white shirt. It resembled the stuffing of the Impala's seats, probably what it was made from.
"Food?" Dean asked, ending his conversation. Sam nodded, and Dean extended the invitation to the Impala. "You wanna come eat with us?" he asked.
She nodded, and Sam wondered if she was just agreeing because Dean asked or if she was actually hungry.
Sam ordered a hamburger and fries, ignoring Dean's incredulous look. They smelled good and sometimes, especially in places like this, he didn't want to risk their so called salads at the end of the day. Having salmonella once was enough thank you very much. Dean copied his order, going for a cheeseburger and asking for no lettuce just to spite him, Sam thought.
"Dean?" The Impala asked, looking at the menu.
"Yeah?" Dean turned his smile away from their waitress.
"Is any of this diesel? I can't have diesel."
Dean laughed nervously."It's not like that. You order whatever you want." The three of them, the brothers and the waitress, stared at her as she stared at the menu.
"The same as Dean." She finally decided and handed the laminated menu back to the waitress.
Their waitress, a young redheaded woman, nodded. "I'll be back in a moment with your drinks."
She headed for the kitchen and two thirds of the table left out a sigh of relief. Sam entertained himself shredding his napkin and listening to Dean's whispered commands.
"There's no diesel in food. That's just a car thing. No oil either." He spoke in hushed tones. "We have to eat and drink too. You'll see. You're hungry now, right? And tired?"
The Impala nodded slowly, her hair bobbing up and down with the movement of her head. "I am almost ready to park."
"Sleep," Dean corrected. "Just wait a little longer."
Sam's greasy food lost its appeal about three bites in. The burger was juicy and the grease coated his mouth and throat. The fries were good, crispy and salty, but within a few bites they too felt heavy in his stomach. He washed the rest of his meal down with as much water as he could drink. The Impala didn't seem to have a problem with it. By the time they finished their meal, her face was smeared with grease which Dean quickly corrected by wiping her lips with a napkin like an over-indulgent parent.
"You gonna finish those?" Dean asked before snagging the rest of Sam's fries. "What did you think?" He offered some of them to his Baby.
"They taste better this way," she told them. "Sometimes you drop things, and I don't like that. This is better." She crunched on a fry and picked another one from the plate. Dean shot Sam a dirty look, as if it was him that dropped food in the car, not the other way around.
"I'll head back now." Sam put a ten on the table to cover the share of food he'd eaten. Dean had eaten most of his fries and with the Impala there to occupy him, he didn't seem to care anyway. "Can I have the room key?"
Sam walked across the road and let himself into their motel room. He wasn't going to wait for Dean and his Baby to come back and bully him into sleeping on the floor. Sam had gotten enough of that growing up. He brushed his teeth and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before digging out his phone and a long distance calling card.
"Sam?" Bobby answered his phone on the second ring.
"Hey, Bobby." Sam got into bed and pulled up the covers before explaining the situation. "The Impala's been changed into a person." He laid it out, where they'd been, how long it had lasted so far, what she looked like, and her odd car-like mannerisms and behaviour. "You ever hear of something like this?"
"Sometimes the spirit of a vehicle is released. But that usually applies to ships and planes." Sam could hear Bobby flipping through books and papers on the other end of the line. "You said she's friendly?"
"So far, yeah. She hasn't done anything threatening."
"I'll keep looking. What was the case? Could there be a connection?" Bobby asked.
"Wives and girlfriends hitting people with cars. I did think about that," Sam hurried before Bobby could complain. "But none of cars went missing. I think this is something different."
"Coincidences, probably." Bobby reminded him. "But since your case involves cars, you should get on it. Keep me posted."
"I will." Sam waited for Bobby to disconnect before hanging up and setting his alarm for the morning. He put his phone on the side table and curled up under the sheets until his feet were no longer hanging off the end of the bed. He'd tell Dean all the important things in the morning.
--
A quiet noise in the night invaded Sam's dreamless sleep, and he opened his eyes to the dark motel room. When the quiet noise came again, he rolled over and flicked the light on to see what was happening.
The blankets on the other bed were twisted and tossed in a messy pile. In the dim late, Sam could make out the Impala who seemed to be sitting on top of his brother. For a second Sam shut his eyes, certain that he'd accidentally seen Dean participating in actions he never wanted to imagine his brother doing, but then he heard the noise again, and it was coming from Dean.
Sam threw himself across the room and knocked the woman off of Dean and unwound the sheets from his brother's neck. "What.-" he started to ask, but the Impala woman grabbed him in her strong arms, arms strong enough to pull him off the bed and down onto the floor with her. They wrestled on the stained carpet. Sam struggled against her but most of his job seemed to be keeping her from getting back on the bed and going after Dean again.
As they thrashed around one of Sam's arms collided with the backpack full of weapons. Dean had obviously just tossed it on the floor when he'd gotten back from the diner. Sam stuck his arm inside, pulling out the first thing that came to hand. He shook the open container of salt in the woman's face, hoping it would burn in her eyes and distract her enough to give him time to find something more useful.
He was not expecting her to throw herself backwards away from the salt spray. Encouraged by her actions, Sam shook more of it in the direction of her face until she was cowering on the ground. Without her trying to strangle him, it was a simple task to find handcuffs in the bag and fasten her hands behind her back. With the threat to his life restrained, Sam hurried to his brother's side, worriedly taking in the puffy bruises around Dean's neck and feeling nervously on his wrist for a pulse.
"'am? What's going on?" Dean's eyes opened a crack, and Sam was relieved to see him breathing and talking without too much difficulty.
"What happened?" Sam asked, fetching water when Dean gestured towards the bottles on the floor. He grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen for good measure.
Dean shrugged. "Woke up, and she was trying to kill me."
Sam was already calling Bobby, only slightly regretting how late the hour was. This call took considerably longer for Bobby to pick up, and the man on the other end wasn't nearly as happy to hear from him.
"It's changed Bobby. She tried to kill him! I tied her up and I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt her because we need to change her back. What do I do?"
It took Bobby a moment to reply, and Sam could hear him breathing tiredly through the phone lines. "Sam? The car went bad? That changes things." Sam heard the change in Bobby's voice to a thinking tone and listened as Bobby turned on his ancient computer. "Did you get a chance to start on the case?"
"No. It's hard without a car," Sam explained. "Wait a second, I'll get my stuff out." He dug around in his backpack and booted up his computer. "How are you holding up?" he asked Dean, relieved to get a thumbs up from his brother now resting comfortably on the bed. The motel had wi-fi, but it wasn't free. Sam just put in Anthony Bryant's credit card number and went hunting for the article that had alerted him to the hunt in the first place.
"Bobby?" Sam picked his phone up from the table.
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"I think I've made a mistake." Sam clicked a few times. "I just sent you a link to one of the articles. Bobby, I don't think the problem is with something possessing the wives. I think something is in the cars. All of the men were killed when they were run over. It's the cars that are doing it."
"Same car?" Bobby asked. "Could be a cursed object."
"There's pictures of different cars in the crime scenes." Sam heard Bobby click again, opening the email Sam had sent. "What about a gremlin?"
"Isn't a spirit. It's actually a creature. Wouldn't explain your case. I think. . . I sent you an email. Look it over and tell me if it makes sense."
Sam opened his email again and skimmed the message from Bobby. Three months ago a motorcycle gang, Death on Wheels, had been run out of the town when a semi-truck coming in for the night had collided with them. The semi-driver hadn't been at fault, the gang had been all over the road. There'd been no survivors, but the men being picked off were all mentioned in the article as being part of the force that had asked them to leave, in a not so polite manner.
"Wouldn't they just be vengeful spirits then?" Sam asked. "How can they possess cars? I mean, stuff like that Steven King car doesn't actually happen. It doesn't work like that. Besides, everything was consumed in the fiery wreck. What about the women involved? The cars aren't acting on their own."
Bobby grumbled something Sam couldn't quite catch. "Sorry, didn't get that."
"I said, I'll call you back in the morning. I need some time." The dial tone buzzed in Sam's ear and, he snapped his phone shut with a sigh.
"What he'd say?" Dean asked, his voice was rough and each word sounded painful.
Sam shrugged. "Needed more time. We'll just have to wait it out."
Dean turned on the television set and positioned himself so he could stare at the woman who had been his car. "I'll watch her. You get some sleep," he ordered and Sam settled back down. Between the rumble of the television and the fear the woman would attack again, he didn't catch a wink of shut eye before his phone went off several hours later.
"What did you find?" Sam asked.
"Good morning to you too, Sam." Bobby grumbled, and Sam wondered how much coffee the man had needed to get through his research. "I think you're dealing with something not as straightforward as a simple vengeful spirit."
"Okay?" Sam found a pen and grabbed the pad of motel stationery, ready to take notes.
"Turns out one the bikers wasn't killed immediately. He was taken to the hospital and he died there. His girlfriend recovered his body, and they buried him in a local cemetery. Details weren't public 'cause they were worried about causing a riot."
"It's a haunting." Sam wrote down the biker's name, Tim Prince, and the address of the cemetery where he was buried. They'd just have to pick the right grave and dig up a fresh juicy corpse, Sam's least favourite kind. "Wait though, since when can people posses cars? And turn cars into humans?"
" If your Impala's possessed by the spirit, torch the body, and she should be herself again."
"As in back in car form?" Sam asked, his pen poised over the paper. "She didn't seem evil right away."
"Nah, I think something else turned your car into a walking talking girl. Tangle with any witches lately?"
Sam thought back over the last hunts they'd taken on, and nodded to himself.
"Thanks Bobby." Sam disconnected the call and sighed. "We've got to hike across town," he announced, looking at the bag of shovels, lighter fluid, and salt with resignation.
There was no cab company in the town, and Sam didn't want to ask anyone for a ride to a cemetery where he was about to desecrate a grave. They started hiking to the other side of town before the sun went down. It took them two hours to reach the gate to the graveyard and by then the sun had slipped over the horizon.
"Here?" Dean asked, leaning on one of the taller headpieces and indicating a patch of land where the ground was still disturbed from the recent burial.
Sam nodded and took the bag of tools off his back. Dean had started off carrying it, until Sam couldn't take his complaining over the weight and shouldered it for him. He tossed the shovels out and lifted the first shovelful of dirt out of the grave.
It was nearly midnight when Dean's shovel hit the wood of the coffin. Sam sank to the dirt on the edge of the grave and wiped the sweat off his face.
"Ready?" Dean asked and lifted the shovel up to drive it down into the wood. It took a few hits before the wood splintered, and Sam resisted the urge to gag at the smell of rotting flesh. Dean hopped up out of the grave and waved at the bag of supplies. "God, that's awful. Hurry up."
Sam tossed him the container of salt and loosened the cap of the jug of gasoline. Dean shook the salt over the swollen corpse, and Sam followed with the gasoline. He lit a book of matches, tossed it into the open grave. He waited until the wood of the coffin caught to turn around and retch onto the ground.
"You okay?"
Sam nodded and put the bag over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
Usually after a salt-and-burn, Dean drove back to whatever dive they were staying in for the week, and Sam could sort of stretch out in the car and relax. He'd never realised just how nice that was until now. Walking back sweaty and dirty was unpleasant and it took longer than the trip out. They were tired and walked so much more slowly now.
Dean led the way into the motel room, pulling out his gun, and Sam followed suit, looking around just in case the Impala had managed to escape her bonds.
"We're good." Dean nodded to the body on the second bed. Her hands were still tightly bound to the bed frame and her ankles were tied to ropes that looped around the short posts at the baseboard. "You want the first shower?"
When Sam returned from his long trip to the bathroom, the Impala was sitting up on the bed, her hands still bound, eating the leftovers from their earlier trip to the diner across the street. He sat on his brother's bed and pulled on clean socks and a fresh shirt before checking his laptop for messages.
The only unread email was from Bobby, a list of rituals and spells to try, a 'just in case' sort of scenario. Most of them were in Dad's journal, or in Sam's own collection of occult research and materials. There'd be time to try them in the morning.
"You set an alarm?" Dean's voice woke Sam from his almost sleeping state, he sat up and Dean collapsed onto the bed beside him.
"Uh, yeah. Bobby's got some stuff for us to try."
"In the morning." Dean grumbled and hunkered down in the blankets next to his brother.
--
When the alarm went off the next morning, Sam got up. Dean had just waved in the direction of the chiming phone and murmured something about shooting it. There were still some clean clothes left in their bags and Sam showered and changed. He was still covered in graveyard dirt and there was a small puddle of mud in the bottom of the tub when he got out.
The diner across the street was dark. Sam got out enough of their granola bars and candy to make a somewhat passable breakfast before drawing his knife and approaching the bed the woman was tied too.
She turned to look at him as he approached, her eyes open and blinking in the soft light coming in from the curtains.
"Are you?" Sam asked, gesturing at the bonds. He wasn't sure how to ask his question. "Do you still want to kill us?"
She turned her head away and stared at the wall. "I would never hurt you." She turned her head back and Sam could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. "I'm leaking."
Sam came close enough to reach out and touch her. He cut through the rope on her ankles. "Then what did you do before?"
"That wasn't me." She whispered. "I'm sorry. Tell Dean I'm sorry. Don't let him scrap me."
"I think you were possessed." Sam told her and finished releasing the rest of her bonds. She sat up and pulled the comforter tightly around her body. "It'll be okay. We torched the body."
"Will I get to be a car again?" She asked, wiping the tears off of her face. "I don't like this. I like to be outside. I miss the taste of gasoline and I like it when Dean's inside of me."
"I'm not sure about that." Sam answered truthfully. "We're going to do everything we can. Either it will wear off on its own or a countercurse or purification ritual will take care of it. We really need you as a car."
"What do I have to do?" She asked, getting'i out of the bed and opening up the bag that held ingredients for spells and various charms. "I'll use this."
Sam looked at the mixture she had pulled out. Sage, rosemary, one of the griffin feathers that had been kicking around since he was a kid. "Give it a try. Take a shower and use them, do you know how?"
She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom with the bundles of purifying and cleansing herbs. Clearly she'd been able to hear and understand them while they'd discussed such things driving from place to place.
That particular mix of herbs didn't work and by the time Dean finally hauled his ass out of bed, Sam had worked through two different dispelling rituals and covered her in charms and anointed her in oils.
Trying to end the curse took the rest of the day and they crossed the street to eat at the diner well after dusk. All three of them were tired and moving slowly, losing hope that this would be something they could reverse.
"I want to look at the stars." The Impala announced when they returned to the motel after their meal of burgers and fries. The salad had been too wilted and soggy for Sam to even touch it.
"Be careful." Sam warned her.
"I'll stay out here." Dean found a place to sit on one of the concrete pillars that fenced the parking area.
"I wish to be alone."
"C'mon." Sam waved his brother inside and closed the door behind him. "You can watch her out the window." He peered out from the behind the curtains.
The Impala was standing in the centre of one of the parking spots, staring up at the sky. Her arms were raised to the sky and her hair blew in the breeze.
"She'll be fine, just leave the door unlocked." Sam exchanged his jeans for track pants and climbed into the bed furthest from the door. "We'll rent a car and head to Bobby's tomorrow. We'll figure this out."
"I know." Dean settled in next to the window, his forehead pressed against the glass. "God, I hate buses. Rental cars, cabs. I need her."
Sam slept easily that night. He woke up early and found Dean still leaning against the window, a small stream of drool on the glass running down from his mouth. Sam called several bus companies until he found one that came through the tiny town. They didn't come every day, but there was a bus coming through in the evening and Sam bought three tickets with Andrew Chandler's credit card.
"Dean?" Sam grabbed his shaving kit and clean clothes from his bag. "I'm taking a shower."
Sam was carefully shaving his neck when Dean yelled and his hand slipped, cutting into the thin skin on the side of his neck. He pressed some toilet paper to the cut and opened the door to the bathroom. "What?"
"Look!" Dean had pulled the curtains open and moved back to give Sam space to look out of the window.
The Impala was sitting in one of the parking spots. The back doors were open and there was a small puddle of oil on the front of the car, but besides that and a heavy coating of dirt, there was nothing else wrong looking about it.
Sam pulled on his shoes and followed Dean outside. As Dean crowed joyfully and popped open her hood, Sam walked around slowly, trying to see some clue as to why the woman had turned back into a car.
"But why did this happen?" He asked Dean. "Are we going to have to live in fear that any moment our car might become a person?"
Dean shrugged. "I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe the curse just wore off? Good enough for me."
Sam helped him load their stuff back into the trunk and called the bus company to cancel the tickets and have the money refunded to his credit card. "So?"
"So, we'll go to Bobby's and we'll worry about it when we get there. It'll be fine." Dean turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, purring happily as it was backed out of the parking lot and onto the open road. "It's good to be back."
Author:evelyncarver
Recipient:princess_schez
Rating:Teen
Warnings:foul language, mild violence, mild gore
Author's Notes:Set in early season 2. Many thanks to my two betas who really helped me with the flow of the story and give me the ideas to come up with an ending.
Summary: Two cases in the Winchesters lives get mixed together with unexpected consequences. When small towns don't have taxis and the contents of their car are strewn over the road, the case becomes much more difficult than Sam expected.
Summergen 2014 Fic #1
--
Sam turned down the radio and lifted his foot off the gas. The Impala's throaty purr spluttered in response. Something wasn't right with the car. A quick glance confirmed Dean was still sleeping next to him in the front seat. They'd been having a rough couple of weeks, between Dean almost dying and an unending series of hunts, this should be a simpler case with time for them to breathe.
The engine groaned again, or maybe it was something in the brake line. Sam slowed and pulled off the road, small stones stirring up in the mess around them.
"Dean." He shook his brother's shoulder roughly. "Wake up, Dean!"
Dean grumbled but opened his eyes before Sam had to shake him again. "Yeah?"
"There's something wrong with the car. It's making a weird noise."
The news was like a slap to the face that woke his brother in an instant. Dean pushed open the passenger-side door with Sam quickly after him. As his brother popped the hood and looked at the burning hot interior, Sam rushed to the trunk for the tool kit, confident in Dean’s skills as a mechanic.
"Well?" Sam demanded as he put the tool kit on the ground in front of the shuddering Impala. “What’s going on?”
"I need more than a minute," Dean complained and then something happened.
The car shone brightly, and the air around it seemed to shimmer. Sam stumbled backwards as quickly as he could, the Impala glowed and the noise came back as it sputtered to life, the engine revving before his vision whited out.
Sam fell back onto the gravel, blinking the bright white blindness from his eyes. It was still dark, the moon was a little higher in the sky, and the car wasn't there. There were no tire tracks, nothing showing where the car had driven back onto the road. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Dean kneeling next to a figure on the cold ground.
"Dean?" Sam got up, his back bruised and sore. Slowly, he limped over to his brother. "What's going on?"
The first aid kit was open. What looked like the entire contents of the car, glove box to trunk, was spread out on the ground, all stacked as if the car had disappeared around them and they'd fallen straight to the earth.
Sam squatted next to the body in the dirt and looked to Dean for explanation. "Did something happen to the car?"
"I think. . ." Dean took a deep breath and rolled the body off of its side and onto its back. "I think this is her."
Sam took in the body, no, the woman. Her chest was slowly rising and falling, stretching out the black leather jacket she was wearing. With a shock, Sam realized all of her clothes resembled the leather interior of the Impala, as if someone had skinned their car for clothes. Her face was lightly lined with age, her hair was dark and curly, and her skin was only a few shades lighter than the black of the Impala's paint job.
Sam wondered how his brother's personification of the car had managed to turned into this attractive middle-aged black woman resting on the ground in front of him. "This is the Impala?"
"I think so." Dean shook her, "She feels real enough. I don't think she's hurt." His hands skimmed lightly over her body, checking for wounds and appreciating the new for his car had taken. "Hey, wake up." He shook her again.
She stirred then, stretching out. When her legs extended, they settled in the pile of stuff that had been in the trunk and her back arched and her head touched the box of ids that belonged in the glove box. Ever so slowly, she rolled over and opened her eyes.
"Hey." Dean moved back, giving her some space. "You okay?"
The woman smiled revelling bright white teeth. Her eyes were dark and shone like the Impala's headlights on a dark road. "Dean." Her voice was deep and rough, like the growl of the car's engine.
"Yeah, yeah, it's me." Dean offered her his hand and she sat up, a rain of gravel falling from her hair. "Are you okay?"
She stood up and stretched again. She was tall, very tall, at least as tall as Dean. Sam glanced at her feet: she was wearing dark leather boots with flat soles. He thought with a set of heels, she’d be looking him straight in the eyes. "I think so," she said and pressed her body against Dean's.
"Glad to hear it," Dean stepped away from her. "We should stow this stuff and get going. Don’t need the local cops on our tails if they find us out here with all that,” he nudged a battle axe with the toe of his boot.
Sam picked up one of the maps from the pile. "I think we're about. . .here." He pointed to a place on the road map and slid his finger along to the next tiny town.
The Impala woman bent over the map, her hair tickling his arm. "No, we're closer than that. My tires lost a lot of tread in the last twenty-four hours, thank you very much. " She touched the map and Sam noticed her fingernails were painted with a shiny silver colour. "About here." She scuffed the dirt under her boots and looked back at the road.
"Fine, it's a little closer." Sam folded up the map and looked at their things spread out on the road. "How are we going to deal with this?" They could carry their duffels, but there were enough weapons to get them locked up for a very long time if anyone passed by and chose to call the cops.
They stowed the heavier stuff in the shelter of the woods nearby. The overgrown weeds would mask it from anyone who managed to make it down this deserted stretch of road, and they could retrieve it once the Impala was back to her normal form.
"Let me help," The woman offered, holding up the big back backpack she carried. Although Dean was reluctant, they managed to fill it up with some of the smaller things they might be needing. Dean and Sam stowed their guns, shovels, and rock salt in their duffels and started down the road.
They walked towards the town, still at least fifteen miles away, but what other choices did they have? The woman led the way, walking with purpose along the edge of the highway. Sam noticed she didn't lift her feet all of the way off of the ground. Each step sounded like the gentle rub of tires as the car ate up the miles.
Forty minutes in Sam found himself lagging behind with his heavy duffel. He fell in step with Dean some thirty paces behind their car's new form. From the look on Dean’s face, it was obvious his brother was trying to suss out the situation.
"So?" Sam asked, his voice low.
"What?" Dean hefted his bag up higher.
"The Impala Dean, this isn't normal."
Dean shrugged. "We'll figure it out. Besides, nothing terrible has happened. She's fine and kinda hot."
Sam looked at the woman again. His view of her body was mostly blocked by the giant backpack she was wearing, but she wasn't Dean's usual type. She was older and tall, and Dean liked young blond girls, not women who were old enough to be his mother. "Really?"
"Don't be a racist." Dean elbowed him. "No, we'll try to hitch a ride once we get closer, and I'll give Bobby a call tonight."
"What about the case?" Sam asked, they had been coming to this town for a reason. Three men had been killed, run over by their wives or girlfriends in the past month. It had been just enough of a pattern to catch their attention.
"We've gotta deal with this first," Dean declared, his voice rising. He smiled and waved when the woman turned around. "C'mon Sam, we need her, but in the car form. Unless you'd like to walk everywhere for this case?"
Sam sped up and left Dean lagging behind. The Impala was keeping a steady pace, and it took him a moment to get in the groove of her speed. "What should I call you?"
"Dean calls me baby," She told him, looking back over her shoulder again.
"How about for other people?" Sam asked. "Something I could call you? Or other people that don't know you like Dean does?"
"Both of you have been inside of me," she reminded him. "But Dean takes care of me."
Sam nodded slowly wondering just how much of their lives she knew about. "Sure. So Baby?"
She shook her head. "Just Dean. He's the one that talks to me. There's a car coming." She stepped off of the road and watched expectantly.
Dean caught up with them before the promised car appeared. "What's the hold up?"
"Apparently a car's coming." Sam heard the low rumble of an engine before the car rounded the bend.
A dirty pickup truck driven by a farmer headed into the town's bar for the night screeched to a halt when Baby stuck out her thumb for a ride. The driver was happy to let them sit in the flatbed once Sam slipped him a twenty, even offered to drop them off at the only motel on his way to the bar.
"Thanks again." Sam climbed out of the truck in the motel parking lot. He shook the guy's hand. "Take care."
"Dean has gone to get us a room." The woman told Sam, as if he couldn't see that for himself.
Sam nodded and put his bag back on over his shoulder. "Yeah. Are you hungry?" he asked her, staring a little wistfully at the diner and bar across the road. The smell of grease and frying meat and potatoes was heavy in the air, and it made his stomach growl.
She shook her head. "I don't need fuel yet."
"Room nine." Dean called across the parking lot. The motel had actual keys for the rooms, and it wasn't too terrible for a grungy one horse town.
They dumped their burdens on the floor, and Sam checked his wallet for cash before digging out a water bottle and re-hydrating after their long walk. "Ready for supper?" he asked, heading for the bathroom.
"In a minute," Dean answered.
When Sam finished in the bathroom, Dean and his Baby were deep in conversation. He'd gotten her to take off her leather jacket, and underneath she was wearing some sort of fluffy white shirt. It resembled the stuffing of the Impala's seats, probably what it was made from.
"Food?" Dean asked, ending his conversation. Sam nodded, and Dean extended the invitation to the Impala. "You wanna come eat with us?" he asked.
She nodded, and Sam wondered if she was just agreeing because Dean asked or if she was actually hungry.
Sam ordered a hamburger and fries, ignoring Dean's incredulous look. They smelled good and sometimes, especially in places like this, he didn't want to risk their so called salads at the end of the day. Having salmonella once was enough thank you very much. Dean copied his order, going for a cheeseburger and asking for no lettuce just to spite him, Sam thought.
"Dean?" The Impala asked, looking at the menu.
"Yeah?" Dean turned his smile away from their waitress.
"Is any of this diesel? I can't have diesel."
Dean laughed nervously."It's not like that. You order whatever you want." The three of them, the brothers and the waitress, stared at her as she stared at the menu.
"The same as Dean." She finally decided and handed the laminated menu back to the waitress.
Their waitress, a young redheaded woman, nodded. "I'll be back in a moment with your drinks."
She headed for the kitchen and two thirds of the table left out a sigh of relief. Sam entertained himself shredding his napkin and listening to Dean's whispered commands.
"There's no diesel in food. That's just a car thing. No oil either." He spoke in hushed tones. "We have to eat and drink too. You'll see. You're hungry now, right? And tired?"
The Impala nodded slowly, her hair bobbing up and down with the movement of her head. "I am almost ready to park."
"Sleep," Dean corrected. "Just wait a little longer."
Sam's greasy food lost its appeal about three bites in. The burger was juicy and the grease coated his mouth and throat. The fries were good, crispy and salty, but within a few bites they too felt heavy in his stomach. He washed the rest of his meal down with as much water as he could drink. The Impala didn't seem to have a problem with it. By the time they finished their meal, her face was smeared with grease which Dean quickly corrected by wiping her lips with a napkin like an over-indulgent parent.
"You gonna finish those?" Dean asked before snagging the rest of Sam's fries. "What did you think?" He offered some of them to his Baby.
"They taste better this way," she told them. "Sometimes you drop things, and I don't like that. This is better." She crunched on a fry and picked another one from the plate. Dean shot Sam a dirty look, as if it was him that dropped food in the car, not the other way around.
"I'll head back now." Sam put a ten on the table to cover the share of food he'd eaten. Dean had eaten most of his fries and with the Impala there to occupy him, he didn't seem to care anyway. "Can I have the room key?"
Sam walked across the road and let himself into their motel room. He wasn't going to wait for Dean and his Baby to come back and bully him into sleeping on the floor. Sam had gotten enough of that growing up. He brushed his teeth and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt before digging out his phone and a long distance calling card.
"Sam?" Bobby answered his phone on the second ring.
"Hey, Bobby." Sam got into bed and pulled up the covers before explaining the situation. "The Impala's been changed into a person." He laid it out, where they'd been, how long it had lasted so far, what she looked like, and her odd car-like mannerisms and behaviour. "You ever hear of something like this?"
"Sometimes the spirit of a vehicle is released. But that usually applies to ships and planes." Sam could hear Bobby flipping through books and papers on the other end of the line. "You said she's friendly?"
"So far, yeah. She hasn't done anything threatening."
"I'll keep looking. What was the case? Could there be a connection?" Bobby asked.
"Wives and girlfriends hitting people with cars. I did think about that," Sam hurried before Bobby could complain. "But none of cars went missing. I think this is something different."
"Coincidences, probably." Bobby reminded him. "But since your case involves cars, you should get on it. Keep me posted."
"I will." Sam waited for Bobby to disconnect before hanging up and setting his alarm for the morning. He put his phone on the side table and curled up under the sheets until his feet were no longer hanging off the end of the bed. He'd tell Dean all the important things in the morning.
--
A quiet noise in the night invaded Sam's dreamless sleep, and he opened his eyes to the dark motel room. When the quiet noise came again, he rolled over and flicked the light on to see what was happening.
The blankets on the other bed were twisted and tossed in a messy pile. In the dim late, Sam could make out the Impala who seemed to be sitting on top of his brother. For a second Sam shut his eyes, certain that he'd accidentally seen Dean participating in actions he never wanted to imagine his brother doing, but then he heard the noise again, and it was coming from Dean.
Sam threw himself across the room and knocked the woman off of Dean and unwound the sheets from his brother's neck. "What.-" he started to ask, but the Impala woman grabbed him in her strong arms, arms strong enough to pull him off the bed and down onto the floor with her. They wrestled on the stained carpet. Sam struggled against her but most of his job seemed to be keeping her from getting back on the bed and going after Dean again.
As they thrashed around one of Sam's arms collided with the backpack full of weapons. Dean had obviously just tossed it on the floor when he'd gotten back from the diner. Sam stuck his arm inside, pulling out the first thing that came to hand. He shook the open container of salt in the woman's face, hoping it would burn in her eyes and distract her enough to give him time to find something more useful.
He was not expecting her to throw herself backwards away from the salt spray. Encouraged by her actions, Sam shook more of it in the direction of her face until she was cowering on the ground. Without her trying to strangle him, it was a simple task to find handcuffs in the bag and fasten her hands behind her back. With the threat to his life restrained, Sam hurried to his brother's side, worriedly taking in the puffy bruises around Dean's neck and feeling nervously on his wrist for a pulse.
"'am? What's going on?" Dean's eyes opened a crack, and Sam was relieved to see him breathing and talking without too much difficulty.
"What happened?" Sam asked, fetching water when Dean gestured towards the bottles on the floor. He grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen for good measure.
Dean shrugged. "Woke up, and she was trying to kill me."
Sam was already calling Bobby, only slightly regretting how late the hour was. This call took considerably longer for Bobby to pick up, and the man on the other end wasn't nearly as happy to hear from him.
"It's changed Bobby. She tried to kill him! I tied her up and I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt her because we need to change her back. What do I do?"
It took Bobby a moment to reply, and Sam could hear him breathing tiredly through the phone lines. "Sam? The car went bad? That changes things." Sam heard the change in Bobby's voice to a thinking tone and listened as Bobby turned on his ancient computer. "Did you get a chance to start on the case?"
"No. It's hard without a car," Sam explained. "Wait a second, I'll get my stuff out." He dug around in his backpack and booted up his computer. "How are you holding up?" he asked Dean, relieved to get a thumbs up from his brother now resting comfortably on the bed. The motel had wi-fi, but it wasn't free. Sam just put in Anthony Bryant's credit card number and went hunting for the article that had alerted him to the hunt in the first place.
"Bobby?" Sam picked his phone up from the table.
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"I think I've made a mistake." Sam clicked a few times. "I just sent you a link to one of the articles. Bobby, I don't think the problem is with something possessing the wives. I think something is in the cars. All of the men were killed when they were run over. It's the cars that are doing it."
"Same car?" Bobby asked. "Could be a cursed object."
"There's pictures of different cars in the crime scenes." Sam heard Bobby click again, opening the email Sam had sent. "What about a gremlin?"
"Isn't a spirit. It's actually a creature. Wouldn't explain your case. I think. . . I sent you an email. Look it over and tell me if it makes sense."
Sam opened his email again and skimmed the message from Bobby. Three months ago a motorcycle gang, Death on Wheels, had been run out of the town when a semi-truck coming in for the night had collided with them. The semi-driver hadn't been at fault, the gang had been all over the road. There'd been no survivors, but the men being picked off were all mentioned in the article as being part of the force that had asked them to leave, in a not so polite manner.
"Wouldn't they just be vengeful spirits then?" Sam asked. "How can they possess cars? I mean, stuff like that Steven King car doesn't actually happen. It doesn't work like that. Besides, everything was consumed in the fiery wreck. What about the women involved? The cars aren't acting on their own."
Bobby grumbled something Sam couldn't quite catch. "Sorry, didn't get that."
"I said, I'll call you back in the morning. I need some time." The dial tone buzzed in Sam's ear and, he snapped his phone shut with a sigh.
"What he'd say?" Dean asked, his voice was rough and each word sounded painful.
Sam shrugged. "Needed more time. We'll just have to wait it out."
Dean turned on the television set and positioned himself so he could stare at the woman who had been his car. "I'll watch her. You get some sleep," he ordered and Sam settled back down. Between the rumble of the television and the fear the woman would attack again, he didn't catch a wink of shut eye before his phone went off several hours later.
"What did you find?" Sam asked.
"Good morning to you too, Sam." Bobby grumbled, and Sam wondered how much coffee the man had needed to get through his research. "I think you're dealing with something not as straightforward as a simple vengeful spirit."
"Okay?" Sam found a pen and grabbed the pad of motel stationery, ready to take notes.
"Turns out one the bikers wasn't killed immediately. He was taken to the hospital and he died there. His girlfriend recovered his body, and they buried him in a local cemetery. Details weren't public 'cause they were worried about causing a riot."
"It's a haunting." Sam wrote down the biker's name, Tim Prince, and the address of the cemetery where he was buried. They'd just have to pick the right grave and dig up a fresh juicy corpse, Sam's least favourite kind. "Wait though, since when can people posses cars? And turn cars into humans?"
" If your Impala's possessed by the spirit, torch the body, and she should be herself again."
"As in back in car form?" Sam asked, his pen poised over the paper. "She didn't seem evil right away."
"Nah, I think something else turned your car into a walking talking girl. Tangle with any witches lately?"
Sam thought back over the last hunts they'd taken on, and nodded to himself.
"Thanks Bobby." Sam disconnected the call and sighed. "We've got to hike across town," he announced, looking at the bag of shovels, lighter fluid, and salt with resignation.
There was no cab company in the town, and Sam didn't want to ask anyone for a ride to a cemetery where he was about to desecrate a grave. They started hiking to the other side of town before the sun went down. It took them two hours to reach the gate to the graveyard and by then the sun had slipped over the horizon.
"Here?" Dean asked, leaning on one of the taller headpieces and indicating a patch of land where the ground was still disturbed from the recent burial.
Sam nodded and took the bag of tools off his back. Dean had started off carrying it, until Sam couldn't take his complaining over the weight and shouldered it for him. He tossed the shovels out and lifted the first shovelful of dirt out of the grave.
It was nearly midnight when Dean's shovel hit the wood of the coffin. Sam sank to the dirt on the edge of the grave and wiped the sweat off his face.
"Ready?" Dean asked and lifted the shovel up to drive it down into the wood. It took a few hits before the wood splintered, and Sam resisted the urge to gag at the smell of rotting flesh. Dean hopped up out of the grave and waved at the bag of supplies. "God, that's awful. Hurry up."
Sam tossed him the container of salt and loosened the cap of the jug of gasoline. Dean shook the salt over the swollen corpse, and Sam followed with the gasoline. He lit a book of matches, tossed it into the open grave. He waited until the wood of the coffin caught to turn around and retch onto the ground.
"You okay?"
Sam nodded and put the bag over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
Usually after a salt-and-burn, Dean drove back to whatever dive they were staying in for the week, and Sam could sort of stretch out in the car and relax. He'd never realised just how nice that was until now. Walking back sweaty and dirty was unpleasant and it took longer than the trip out. They were tired and walked so much more slowly now.
Dean led the way into the motel room, pulling out his gun, and Sam followed suit, looking around just in case the Impala had managed to escape her bonds.
"We're good." Dean nodded to the body on the second bed. Her hands were still tightly bound to the bed frame and her ankles were tied to ropes that looped around the short posts at the baseboard. "You want the first shower?"
When Sam returned from his long trip to the bathroom, the Impala was sitting up on the bed, her hands still bound, eating the leftovers from their earlier trip to the diner across the street. He sat on his brother's bed and pulled on clean socks and a fresh shirt before checking his laptop for messages.
The only unread email was from Bobby, a list of rituals and spells to try, a 'just in case' sort of scenario. Most of them were in Dad's journal, or in Sam's own collection of occult research and materials. There'd be time to try them in the morning.
"You set an alarm?" Dean's voice woke Sam from his almost sleeping state, he sat up and Dean collapsed onto the bed beside him.
"Uh, yeah. Bobby's got some stuff for us to try."
"In the morning." Dean grumbled and hunkered down in the blankets next to his brother.
--
When the alarm went off the next morning, Sam got up. Dean had just waved in the direction of the chiming phone and murmured something about shooting it. There were still some clean clothes left in their bags and Sam showered and changed. He was still covered in graveyard dirt and there was a small puddle of mud in the bottom of the tub when he got out.
The diner across the street was dark. Sam got out enough of their granola bars and candy to make a somewhat passable breakfast before drawing his knife and approaching the bed the woman was tied too.
She turned to look at him as he approached, her eyes open and blinking in the soft light coming in from the curtains.
"Are you?" Sam asked, gesturing at the bonds. He wasn't sure how to ask his question. "Do you still want to kill us?"
She turned her head away and stared at the wall. "I would never hurt you." She turned her head back and Sam could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. "I'm leaking."
Sam came close enough to reach out and touch her. He cut through the rope on her ankles. "Then what did you do before?"
"That wasn't me." She whispered. "I'm sorry. Tell Dean I'm sorry. Don't let him scrap me."
"I think you were possessed." Sam told her and finished releasing the rest of her bonds. She sat up and pulled the comforter tightly around her body. "It'll be okay. We torched the body."
"Will I get to be a car again?" She asked, wiping the tears off of her face. "I don't like this. I like to be outside. I miss the taste of gasoline and I like it when Dean's inside of me."
"I'm not sure about that." Sam answered truthfully. "We're going to do everything we can. Either it will wear off on its own or a countercurse or purification ritual will take care of it. We really need you as a car."
"What do I have to do?" She asked, getting'i out of the bed and opening up the bag that held ingredients for spells and various charms. "I'll use this."
Sam looked at the mixture she had pulled out. Sage, rosemary, one of the griffin feathers that had been kicking around since he was a kid. "Give it a try. Take a shower and use them, do you know how?"
She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom with the bundles of purifying and cleansing herbs. Clearly she'd been able to hear and understand them while they'd discussed such things driving from place to place.
That particular mix of herbs didn't work and by the time Dean finally hauled his ass out of bed, Sam had worked through two different dispelling rituals and covered her in charms and anointed her in oils.
Trying to end the curse took the rest of the day and they crossed the street to eat at the diner well after dusk. All three of them were tired and moving slowly, losing hope that this would be something they could reverse.
"I want to look at the stars." The Impala announced when they returned to the motel after their meal of burgers and fries. The salad had been too wilted and soggy for Sam to even touch it.
"Be careful." Sam warned her.
"I'll stay out here." Dean found a place to sit on one of the concrete pillars that fenced the parking area.
"I wish to be alone."
"C'mon." Sam waved his brother inside and closed the door behind him. "You can watch her out the window." He peered out from the behind the curtains.
The Impala was standing in the centre of one of the parking spots, staring up at the sky. Her arms were raised to the sky and her hair blew in the breeze.
"She'll be fine, just leave the door unlocked." Sam exchanged his jeans for track pants and climbed into the bed furthest from the door. "We'll rent a car and head to Bobby's tomorrow. We'll figure this out."
"I know." Dean settled in next to the window, his forehead pressed against the glass. "God, I hate buses. Rental cars, cabs. I need her."
Sam slept easily that night. He woke up early and found Dean still leaning against the window, a small stream of drool on the glass running down from his mouth. Sam called several bus companies until he found one that came through the tiny town. They didn't come every day, but there was a bus coming through in the evening and Sam bought three tickets with Andrew Chandler's credit card.
"Dean?" Sam grabbed his shaving kit and clean clothes from his bag. "I'm taking a shower."
Sam was carefully shaving his neck when Dean yelled and his hand slipped, cutting into the thin skin on the side of his neck. He pressed some toilet paper to the cut and opened the door to the bathroom. "What?"
"Look!" Dean had pulled the curtains open and moved back to give Sam space to look out of the window.
The Impala was sitting in one of the parking spots. The back doors were open and there was a small puddle of oil on the front of the car, but besides that and a heavy coating of dirt, there was nothing else wrong looking about it.
Sam pulled on his shoes and followed Dean outside. As Dean crowed joyfully and popped open her hood, Sam walked around slowly, trying to see some clue as to why the woman had turned back into a car.
"But why did this happen?" He asked Dean. "Are we going to have to live in fear that any moment our car might become a person?"
Dean shrugged. "I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe the curse just wore off? Good enough for me."
Sam helped him load their stuff back into the trunk and called the bus company to cancel the tickets and have the money refunded to his credit card. "So?"
"So, we'll go to Bobby's and we'll worry about it when we get there. It'll be fine." Dean turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, purring happily as it was backed out of the parking lot and onto the open road. "It's good to be back."