What's My Name? 1/1. PG-13. Sam/Dean.
Title: What's my name? 1/1
Author: Zenamydog
Rating: PG-13+
Characters/Pairing: Implied… (Maybe a touch more than implied.) Sam/Dean
Warnings: Spoilers for 6:1.
Beta: jdsampson
Word Count: 1,664.
Disclaimer: Man, if I owned these boys… I’d break them and put them back together a lot more often. *winks*
BEFORE YOU CLICK BELOW… DO YOU KNOW THE ANSWER?
My cage is a gray tarp and my hell is this garage.
I'm cold and blind, left to stare endlessly at one small part of a dirty wall. My insides are slowly seizing, as dirt and dust make its way through my armor.
But I guess in the end, it doesn't matter.
My captor is someone whom I love and I would do anything for.
#######
Chuck once said I was the most significant thing in the whole of the world and I guess for a moment in time he was right.
It's funny how hunting can go belly-up so quickly. I think that's why I always saw my demise differently. I always expected to be driven off a bridge, or a cliff, Thelma and Louise style. When Sam went to hell, I had to really wonder if Dean and I were going to take that plunge.
As we rode to Lisa's on that day, Dean's thoughts of suicide leaked out of him, like pheromones through my leather skin. I just knew that it took everything in him, not to join his brother.
Dean knows that I would gladly go down with him, but I would much rather go down for him. I've hunted with two generations and I've had many a hunter ride shotgun in my passenger-seat. I've seen it all. Been through it all, but I've never quite seen a hunter's connection like Dean's and Sammy's.
And, yeah… I have the right to call him Sammy, too.
#######
There's that familiar sound of leather boot on the pavement. It means that Dean is on his way into the garage, OR he is headed out to the backyard. I understand Lisa keeps a small garden out there and I have a feeling that Dean likes looking after it.
The tap comes closer and then there is a telltale sound of the garage door, opening. He is coming in.
He comes in here quite often. Sometimes to fix something or other, but more often to sit and drink.
I hate to admit it, but I like those times the most. He sometimes talks to me after he has had a few. "Hey, Baby," he'd say. "You look as sad as I feel." He would talk dribble about what a failure he had been and sometimes apologized for letting me rust away. I don't listen, though. I just concentrate on his voice. It is my only tangible link to the outside world.
That… and touch. I miss their touch… and I really miss their sexy butts rubbing against my leather every day. Laughs to self.
I let a glimmer of hope rise up in my carburetor, yesterday when Dean grabbed the keys from my glove compartment. He stopped and ran his hand briefly over my leather. His touch was soft and apologetic and it frightened me a little, too much like a goodbye. Then I heard Sam's voice.
My first response was to feel guilty. I already knew Sam was alive. I also knew Dean didn't. I'd overheard Bobby having a telephone conversation with Sam, months ago. I have to say in my defense… What could I do? It's not like I could "tell" him.
I know Dean was trying to do the right thing by offering me to Sam. He understood. Hunting was in my oil, like it was in their blood and my battery skipped a beat.
"Listen… She should be hunting. Take her." I could imagine Dean dangling my keys on his finger.
Sam had looked out for me before. He'd treated me well when Dean was downstairs and when Gabriel/Trickster kept them in that loop. So it wouldn't have been so bad, going with Sam, even without Dean. At least then, I would have been on the open road again and not…
I couldn't see the look on Sam's face from under my blindfold, but 60 seconds into it, I knew Sam was going to say no.
I guess on the 'Sam-speak' front, I am pretty much on par with Dean. Maybe I am a little better at it? After all, I've been privileged to conversations that Dean hasn't.
Sam hesitated, you see? He didn't come straight out and ask, "Are you sure?" Like Dean, I know every inflection in his voice, but this was no and I heard it in his silence.
"Thanks… really… But I already got my car set up how I like it… I should hit the road."
"I'll walk you out."
Ouch…
I couldn't hear them once Dean closed the door to the garage, but I could imagine what their goodbye would be like.
I'm not sure if it is possible for a 67 Impala to sigh, but I wanted to. Sam's no meant I am still being left out of the action. Still cold, blind and bleeding. I've just noticed one of my hoses has begun to leak.
Dean hasn't started me for a while and I am not sure if my battery is holding its charge. I'm okay, but I am feeling a little sick and I would have settled on Sam's hands to be the ones to make me feel better.
I try hard to understand. It's just that Dean can't cope with my maintenance right now. He said it himself. He was out of his head with grief before Sam came back and even after all this time, he still yells out in his sleep.
#######
It's been over a week, or is that a month, since Dean opened my door and reached into my glove compartment. He wasn't in a hurry and his skin felt soft as he braced his hand on my seat.
I guess there is solace in the fact that he hasn't sold me. I don't think he will, unless I get too run down. There's a chance he would try to do the noble thing and let someone treat me right.
And then there's the whole… I mean… I am a constant reminder, right? Of Sam, Lucifer, Adam… To Dean, the list is endless. I hope he won't sell me, but…
My back seat is feeling a little cramped with the sleeping gear and the rifles stored there. I like the fact that Dean still has his very first sawn-off. The one he cut down. It still works , too. I kind of think it's strange, though, to have Sam's Soccer trophy packed with that gun.
My left front tire is flattish and it hurts a little. It would just take two minutes at a service station, but, hey… I shouldn't be selfish, right?
He cried you know? Dean. He sobbed his heart out when he did this thing to me. When he put on the blindfold and started the deterioration of my internal organs and my external vanity.
Dean sat down, his back warm against my door. His voice was cracked, like he'd been crying for hours. I could tell he was waging some internal battle. I just never expected that it was going to be about me. I was being covered up… over… sent to my own personal 'cage'.
Dean sobbed his apologies and his tears dripped against my shiny paint work. Touch… Good-bye… Touch… I understood at that moment why he'd washed me twice that week.
It felt like the night we took Sam to the bus stop. It had that heavy sense of inevitability about it. It was not meant to happen, but it did anyway.
To my recollection, that was the last time the two of them curled up in my back seat for anything other than warmth. Dean's grief and torment had radiated through the seats on that night, as had Sam's.
It is how I know, he did not want to do this to me. He didn't.
I take pride in the fact that he has loved me my whole life. After all, he's the reason John bought me in the first place. Which in itself is kind of a head-fuck, because of the whole back in time thing.
Like everyone else, I liked to flutter my headlights in Dean's direction, occasionally. We all flirted with him. Anything that walked, Sam and me. We are… were all a little in love with him.
I guess, for now, this cage is okay. Hunters just have to endure this kind of thing. Right?
The two toy soldiers in my ashtray, still kind of tickle and I get a laugh out of that sometimes. So… for… now it is that and Dean's voice that keeps me going. My love for my owners is at least as strong as theirs for each other.
You know? I used to wonder about cars having a name. I'd often be in a parking lot somewhere for hours or days. Lots of people name us. I had to think as to whether Dean had named me. I don't want to die or be turned into scrap metal without a real name.
My right front tire deflates a little and I don't let my springs complain, because I realize he calls me it all the time and the knowledge makes me giddy with pride and determination. Girl Power!
It takes some weight off my shoulders, to finally understand. I have a destiny, too.
At some point, all of the Winchesters have gone to hell. Right? Why would I be any different?
I guess in a way, it is some sort of 'right-of-passage'.
Because guess what?
I do have a real name and it's Baby Winchester.
The End.
AN: Well hope you liked? Unusual for me to do first person. Did you know the answer before you clicked? See ya next time. Xx Z
Author: Zenamydog
Rating: PG-13+
Characters/Pairing: Implied… (Maybe a touch more than implied.) Sam/Dean
Warnings: Spoilers for 6:1.
Beta: jdsampson
Word Count: 1,664.
Disclaimer: Man, if I owned these boys… I’d break them and put them back together a lot more often. *winks*
BEFORE YOU CLICK BELOW… DO YOU KNOW THE ANSWER?
My cage is a gray tarp and my hell is this garage.
I'm cold and blind, left to stare endlessly at one small part of a dirty wall. My insides are slowly seizing, as dirt and dust make its way through my armor.
But I guess in the end, it doesn't matter.
My captor is someone whom I love and I would do anything for.
#######
Chuck once said I was the most significant thing in the whole of the world and I guess for a moment in time he was right.
It's funny how hunting can go belly-up so quickly. I think that's why I always saw my demise differently. I always expected to be driven off a bridge, or a cliff, Thelma and Louise style. When Sam went to hell, I had to really wonder if Dean and I were going to take that plunge.
As we rode to Lisa's on that day, Dean's thoughts of suicide leaked out of him, like pheromones through my leather skin. I just knew that it took everything in him, not to join his brother.
Dean knows that I would gladly go down with him, but I would much rather go down for him. I've hunted with two generations and I've had many a hunter ride shotgun in my passenger-seat. I've seen it all. Been through it all, but I've never quite seen a hunter's connection like Dean's and Sammy's.
And, yeah… I have the right to call him Sammy, too.
#######
There's that familiar sound of leather boot on the pavement. It means that Dean is on his way into the garage, OR he is headed out to the backyard. I understand Lisa keeps a small garden out there and I have a feeling that Dean likes looking after it.
The tap comes closer and then there is a telltale sound of the garage door, opening. He is coming in.
He comes in here quite often. Sometimes to fix something or other, but more often to sit and drink.
I hate to admit it, but I like those times the most. He sometimes talks to me after he has had a few. "Hey, Baby," he'd say. "You look as sad as I feel." He would talk dribble about what a failure he had been and sometimes apologized for letting me rust away. I don't listen, though. I just concentrate on his voice. It is my only tangible link to the outside world.
That… and touch. I miss their touch… and I really miss their sexy butts rubbing against my leather every day. Laughs to self.
I let a glimmer of hope rise up in my carburetor, yesterday when Dean grabbed the keys from my glove compartment. He stopped and ran his hand briefly over my leather. His touch was soft and apologetic and it frightened me a little, too much like a goodbye. Then I heard Sam's voice.
My first response was to feel guilty. I already knew Sam was alive. I also knew Dean didn't. I'd overheard Bobby having a telephone conversation with Sam, months ago. I have to say in my defense… What could I do? It's not like I could "tell" him.
I know Dean was trying to do the right thing by offering me to Sam. He understood. Hunting was in my oil, like it was in their blood and my battery skipped a beat.
"Listen… She should be hunting. Take her." I could imagine Dean dangling my keys on his finger.
Sam had looked out for me before. He'd treated me well when Dean was downstairs and when Gabriel/Trickster kept them in that loop. So it wouldn't have been so bad, going with Sam, even without Dean. At least then, I would have been on the open road again and not…
I couldn't see the look on Sam's face from under my blindfold, but 60 seconds into it, I knew Sam was going to say no.
I guess on the 'Sam-speak' front, I am pretty much on par with Dean. Maybe I am a little better at it? After all, I've been privileged to conversations that Dean hasn't.
Sam hesitated, you see? He didn't come straight out and ask, "Are you sure?" Like Dean, I know every inflection in his voice, but this was no and I heard it in his silence.
"Thanks… really… But I already got my car set up how I like it… I should hit the road."
"I'll walk you out."
Ouch…
I couldn't hear them once Dean closed the door to the garage, but I could imagine what their goodbye would be like.
I'm not sure if it is possible for a 67 Impala to sigh, but I wanted to. Sam's no meant I am still being left out of the action. Still cold, blind and bleeding. I've just noticed one of my hoses has begun to leak.
Dean hasn't started me for a while and I am not sure if my battery is holding its charge. I'm okay, but I am feeling a little sick and I would have settled on Sam's hands to be the ones to make me feel better.
I try hard to understand. It's just that Dean can't cope with my maintenance right now. He said it himself. He was out of his head with grief before Sam came back and even after all this time, he still yells out in his sleep.
#######
It's been over a week, or is that a month, since Dean opened my door and reached into my glove compartment. He wasn't in a hurry and his skin felt soft as he braced his hand on my seat.
I guess there is solace in the fact that he hasn't sold me. I don't think he will, unless I get too run down. There's a chance he would try to do the noble thing and let someone treat me right.
And then there's the whole… I mean… I am a constant reminder, right? Of Sam, Lucifer, Adam… To Dean, the list is endless. I hope he won't sell me, but…
My back seat is feeling a little cramped with the sleeping gear and the rifles stored there. I like the fact that Dean still has his very first sawn-off. The one he cut down. It still works , too. I kind of think it's strange, though, to have Sam's Soccer trophy packed with that gun.
My left front tire is flattish and it hurts a little. It would just take two minutes at a service station, but, hey… I shouldn't be selfish, right?
He cried you know? Dean. He sobbed his heart out when he did this thing to me. When he put on the blindfold and started the deterioration of my internal organs and my external vanity.
Dean sat down, his back warm against my door. His voice was cracked, like he'd been crying for hours. I could tell he was waging some internal battle. I just never expected that it was going to be about me. I was being covered up… over… sent to my own personal 'cage'.
Dean sobbed his apologies and his tears dripped against my shiny paint work. Touch… Good-bye… Touch… I understood at that moment why he'd washed me twice that week.
It felt like the night we took Sam to the bus stop. It had that heavy sense of inevitability about it. It was not meant to happen, but it did anyway.
To my recollection, that was the last time the two of them curled up in my back seat for anything other than warmth. Dean's grief and torment had radiated through the seats on that night, as had Sam's.
It is how I know, he did not want to do this to me. He didn't.
I take pride in the fact that he has loved me my whole life. After all, he's the reason John bought me in the first place. Which in itself is kind of a head-fuck, because of the whole back in time thing.
Like everyone else, I liked to flutter my headlights in Dean's direction, occasionally. We all flirted with him. Anything that walked, Sam and me. We are… were all a little in love with him.
I guess, for now, this cage is okay. Hunters just have to endure this kind of thing. Right?
The two toy soldiers in my ashtray, still kind of tickle and I get a laugh out of that sometimes. So… for… now it is that and Dean's voice that keeps me going. My love for my owners is at least as strong as theirs for each other.
You know? I used to wonder about cars having a name. I'd often be in a parking lot somewhere for hours or days. Lots of people name us. I had to think as to whether Dean had named me. I don't want to die or be turned into scrap metal without a real name.
My right front tire deflates a little and I don't let my springs complain, because I realize he calls me it all the time and the knowledge makes me giddy with pride and determination. Girl Power!
It takes some weight off my shoulders, to finally understand. I have a destiny, too.
At some point, all of the Winchesters have gone to hell. Right? Why would I be any different?
I guess in a way, it is some sort of 'right-of-passage'.
Because guess what?
I do have a real name and it's Baby Winchester.
The End.
AN: Well hope you liked? Unusual for me to do first person. Did you know the answer before you clicked? See ya next time. Xx Z