Fic: SPN, Dean/Impala, Gen
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Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, Impala, Bobby
Written for random fic is random mix n match challenge.
He was drawing a crowd. As much a crowd as can be managed at 2pm on a Thursday afternoon in Bobby's salvage yard. Bobby watched, of course, standing there with a guy who'd wandered in looking for a 1979 Chevy Caprice quarter panel at a steal. The guy was watching too, all conversation at a standstill.
Sam watched from the porch swing.
The Impala rocked gently. There was snapping noise, then a whirring sound, then a drill. In the backseat of the Impala Dean knelt on the seat, mounting something in the rear dash, one booted foot hanging out the door. He cursed.
"Hunnert degrees out, boy, why don't you finish that tomorrow," Bobby suggested after a while.
Dean laughed, muffled by the protective shell of the only home he really knew anymore. "Tomorrow is today, Bobby! Might as well finish today as much as tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll come back today and work on it some more!" He laughed again, then there was a whirring noise, a spark, a curse.
"Don't that beat all," the Caprice man said.
"You mind your own," Bobby said, and led the man toward the back of the yard. He didn't have what the guy was looking for, but he could probably sell him something.
Sam watched them go, then watched his brother. He squinted up at the sun, shook his head, and went into the house.
Dean heard the screen door slam shut. So much for help from Sammy! That's okay, he almost had it. The soldering gun smoked in his hands, he probably wouldn't even burn himself again. Soon the little DC motors whirred gently, and the blue lights lit his face from below. He smiled, pride swelling in his chest. He rested his hands, burned fingers on the Impala's scorching interior. He stroked it.
"You're a different animal now, baby. Me and you. We can fix it all." He lay down on her backseat, one leg bent beneath him, the leather hot on his back through his tee shirt, sweat soaking through. It wasn't the first time she'd been wet from him.
He turned onto his side, petting the seat, burning his cheek now. "We've been through a lot, you and me." He placed a palm against the floorboard, as if expecting to feel life beneath. "Hope you're ready to do it all again," he reached up toward the roof, fingertips brushing her headliner, "do it right."
"Dean?"
Dean looked up, in her door Sam's silhouette was saying something. He sat up, blinked sweat or more from his eyes.
"Lemonade?" Sam asked, offered a glass and Dean accepted. He smiled up at his little brother.
"She's all done," Sammy.
Sam smiled down, "That's great Dean. Why don't you come in the house?"
Dean shook his head, watched the ice swirling and melting in the yellow liquid, leaned sideways against the back of the driver's seat. "I will," he said, squinting up again. "In a minute."
In a minute he was lying in the backseat again, talking to no one. Sam watched from the porch swing.
After a while Bobby stood beside him, tucking a couple of twenties into his shirt pocket. He watched Dean, too.
"What'd he call that thing again?" Bobby asked. "Faux Compliciter?"
"Flux Capacitor," Sam said tiredly.
"Uhuh," Bobby said. They could hear Dean giggling in the car. "And just how hard did he hit his head this time?"
Sam sat forward, elbows on his knees, and sighed. "Pretty hard, I guess."
Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, Impala, Bobby
Written for random fic is random mix n match challenge.
He was drawing a crowd. As much a crowd as can be managed at 2pm on a Thursday afternoon in Bobby's salvage yard. Bobby watched, of course, standing there with a guy who'd wandered in looking for a 1979 Chevy Caprice quarter panel at a steal. The guy was watching too, all conversation at a standstill.
Sam watched from the porch swing.
The Impala rocked gently. There was snapping noise, then a whirring sound, then a drill. In the backseat of the Impala Dean knelt on the seat, mounting something in the rear dash, one booted foot hanging out the door. He cursed.
"Hunnert degrees out, boy, why don't you finish that tomorrow," Bobby suggested after a while.
Dean laughed, muffled by the protective shell of the only home he really knew anymore. "Tomorrow is today, Bobby! Might as well finish today as much as tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll come back today and work on it some more!" He laughed again, then there was a whirring noise, a spark, a curse.
"Don't that beat all," the Caprice man said.
"You mind your own," Bobby said, and led the man toward the back of the yard. He didn't have what the guy was looking for, but he could probably sell him something.
Sam watched them go, then watched his brother. He squinted up at the sun, shook his head, and went into the house.
Dean heard the screen door slam shut. So much for help from Sammy! That's okay, he almost had it. The soldering gun smoked in his hands, he probably wouldn't even burn himself again. Soon the little DC motors whirred gently, and the blue lights lit his face from below. He smiled, pride swelling in his chest. He rested his hands, burned fingers on the Impala's scorching interior. He stroked it.
"You're a different animal now, baby. Me and you. We can fix it all." He lay down on her backseat, one leg bent beneath him, the leather hot on his back through his tee shirt, sweat soaking through. It wasn't the first time she'd been wet from him.
He turned onto his side, petting the seat, burning his cheek now. "We've been through a lot, you and me." He placed a palm against the floorboard, as if expecting to feel life beneath. "Hope you're ready to do it all again," he reached up toward the roof, fingertips brushing her headliner, "do it right."
"Dean?"
Dean looked up, in her door Sam's silhouette was saying something. He sat up, blinked sweat or more from his eyes.
"Lemonade?" Sam asked, offered a glass and Dean accepted. He smiled up at his little brother.
"She's all done," Sammy.
Sam smiled down, "That's great Dean. Why don't you come in the house?"
Dean shook his head, watched the ice swirling and melting in the yellow liquid, leaned sideways against the back of the driver's seat. "I will," he said, squinting up again. "In a minute."
In a minute he was lying in the backseat again, talking to no one. Sam watched from the porch swing.
After a while Bobby stood beside him, tucking a couple of twenties into his shirt pocket. He watched Dean, too.
"What'd he call that thing again?" Bobby asked. "Faux Compliciter?"
"Flux Capacitor," Sam said tiredly.
"Uhuh," Bobby said. They could hear Dean giggling in the car. "And just how hard did he hit his head this time?"
Sam sat forward, elbows on his knees, and sighed. "Pretty hard, I guess."