Diary of a '67 Impala Chapter 2/?
Title: Diary of a '67 Impala
Author: shyriann
Length: approximately 650 words (This chapter)
Rating: G (this chapter)
Pairings: none (this chapter)
Characters: Dean, John and Metallicar
Disclaimer: If I owned him, he'd be home helping me raise an army of green eyed angels. So it's probably best I don't.
Summary: Twelve year old Dean has a brilliant idea that ends with yet another scar on his heart. "The store's too far to walk in the snow, and I really want a soda. So whadda ya say? Will you take me?"
One night, when Dean was almost as tall as her door, he had come outside to visit her in the parking lot. He had stood and looked at her for a long time, glancing back at the motel then back to her. She could feel the nervousness in him, could see his hand shake as he held her keys. Why was he holding her keys? She got her answer quickly enough when he leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper.
"The store's too far to walk in the snow, and I really want a soda. So whadda ya say? Will you take me?" Of course he didn't expect an answer. Dean may not have cared about school the way Sam did, but there wasn't a dumb cell in his body. Well, maybe one. The one that thought a twelve year old could drive a two ton car in the snow. She waited while he slid in and put her in neutral. She didn't really understand the concept of years, but John had said Dean couldn't drive till he was fifteen years old, and since he couldn't see over her steering wheel, she was pretty sure he wasn't there yet. Dean driving her five miles down the road in fresh snow in the middle of the night did not sound like a good idea.
She rolled down the gently sloped parking lot, all the way to the bottom, and refused to lock her brakes even when he pushed the pedal too hard. When they were at the far end of the lot, he got brave enough to turn her key. She clenched down hard on her compressor, drawing an ear splitting scream from the belt. There. John would have heard that for certain. Along with the rumble of her engine, it was a cacophony of noise.
Dean slammed her shifter into drive and stomped on her accelerator. Two could play this game. She let her tires casually spin on the slick road before gripping tight and lurching forward hard enough to slam him back against her padded seat. He recovered more quickly than she thought, and they were driving off down the road. She heard a shout behind her, and thought with satisfaction that her plan to wake John had worked. Now all she had to do was get them stopped before Dean got them both sent to the junkyard. She remembered the road from when they had come here, and she knew that about a block away was a clear area, just flat fields on both sides of the road. She waited, timing it perfectly, and when she hit just the right spot... she let go.
They spun, a perfect three-sixty in the middle of the tiny road, and slid off gently to rest in a shallow ditch. Dean's face connected sharply with her steering wheel as they came to a stop, and she cringed. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She was trying to keep him from a wreck, but dammit, she'd given him a bloody lip anyways. A single drop of blood fell onto her carpeted floorboard and she held it there. She would keep it always, a reminder of her remorse for hurting her family.
John came running down the road, his bare feet cutting a path of panic through four inches of snow. He had yanked her door open hard enough to make her hinges groan, but she deserved it. He had screamed Dean's name and Dean had shied away from him, trembling in fear at John's bellow. John had run his hands all over Dean, shouting over and over "Are you okay?" His panic had been infectious, Dean had started to cry too, mumbling "I'm okay, Dad. I'm okay." John had snatched Dean out of her seat and crushed the boy against his chest, tears running down both their faces. She felt terrible for making Dean bleed, but she knew how much worse it could have been. That hole in John where Mary had been would have collapsed into a swirling sucking vortex if Dean had gone to the junkyard too, and then what would have happened to Sammy? She didn't even want to think about how fragile her family was. Her boys wore brave faces, but she could feel that inside, they were all lost, just clinging to each other to keep from being swept away into nothingness. She could take care of them, but she wasn't Mary. She couldn't heal them.
John had put Dean back into her passenger seat and climbed behind her steering wheel. They had driven slowly and silently back to her parking space. John had sat for a long time, just looking at Dean, panic and anger slowly draining away. Dean had stared at her glove compartment, fear growing with every passing moment.
Finally, John had spoken, his voice a gentle rumble. "Why the hell did you steal the car, Dean? What were you thinking?"
"I... I wanted a soda."
"A soda?" John's voice was incredulous. "You almost wrecked my car and killed my eldest son for a fucking soda, Dean?"
"Yes, Sir. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm sorry."
She felt the emotions swirling through John's core. Fear, relief, anger... and one more.
"I'm very disappointed in you, son."
The floodgates opened, and Dean began to cry in earnest. Hot, silent tears flowed down his cheeks in a river of remorse and self-loathing. She felt that long ago hole in his soul that she had thought was a scar show itself for what it truly was. Scabbed over, but never really healed. And those six words from John ripped that scab away. Dean's heart would never quite stop bleeding again.
Chapter 1 , Chapter 3