Title: A Painful Reminder
Author: alakewood
Warnings: Spoilers for Swan Song.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1150
Summary: A coda to 5.22. He stares at the sign in my window, the dirt hiding the sheen of my paint and the gleam of my chrome, an idle drag of his finger cuts through the dust to scratch an itch I didn't even know I had.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

oxoxo

After what happened in Lawrence, the break is expected. Dean needs time to not only recuperate, but figure out his- our next move.

Things are so much different since that horrible, horrifying day at Stull Cemetery. I've never seen Sam so angry, his eyes just as dark and gleaming as my paint. But scarier. Menacing. Evil. I've seen a lot – thought I'd seen it all – but this thing that wasn't my Sam, it terrified me. Terrified Dean, too. I could tell by the fine tremors that shook his body and sent the barest of vibrations throughout my steel frame. Then Sam- Lucifer hit Dean; I've witnessed them fight before, but nothing like this, never brutal. And I felt Dean's blood flow over me, warm and slick. But there was nothing I could do but hope that my unwavering and constant support would give him some small comfort, an ounce of strength. Then Sam tossed Lucifer, and himself, into the pit, Adam (Michael) not far behind.

Dean needs to save them. Needs to figure out a way to break his brothers out of Hell without releasing Lucifer from his cage. He could, maybe, call Bobby for help, but they've gotten themselves into something deeper than any hunter has ever known. Literal uncharted territory. And Cas would be of little to no help, having stepped up into God's immense, vacant shoes to stop the rebellion raging in Heaven.

So Dean's taking a break. And I am in the same spot, unmoved, where he parked me days ago. He hasn't touched me, doesn't look at me – won't, can't, I don't know. No fleeting glances out of the dining room window, no longing stares as he drove past with Lisa and Ben in her station wagon.

Lisa's garage is a single-stall deal, the driveway only wide enough for one vehicle, which is why I'm parked along the street. I'm thankful that I haven't been swapped for Lisa's car – I don't like to be confined, have grown accustomed to open spaces and freedom. The need to go snaked through my dry, disused fuel lines.

What gets to me almost as much as Dean's neglect is the silence. No purr, no rumble of my engine to vibrate through my chassis. None of Dean's raucous music blaring through my speakers. I miss it. I miss him. Them. I never protested, never hesitated a moment I was with them. I don't understand why I've been purposefully ignored, left behind, abandoned at the curb to accumulate dust.

Then I remember Sam making Dean promise to try to have a normal life – a life beyond the hunt – and I realize: Lisa and Ben have replaced Sam and the hunt as Dean's life, and her house has replaced me as Dean's home. I'm no longer needed, no longer a necessity or a comfort. Just a painful reminder of the past, of everything he's lost.

And there's nothing I can do. I'm useless without Dean behind my wheel.

The 'For Sale' sign stuck in my windshield in the middle of the second week stings, but doesn't come as a surprise. The surprise, however, is Sam's appearance the night after. He stares at the sign in my window, the dirt hiding the sheen of my paint and the gleam of my chrome, an idle drag of his finger cuts through the dust to scratch an itch I didn't even know I had. Under the flickering light of the streetlamp near the end of the driveway, he gazes at the mockery of our family in the dining room window of Lisa's house.

Sam returns sporadically, but as days become weeks become months, I am no longer ignored. Ben likes to visit me after school. Brief moments before Dean comes back to Lisa's. He trails the tips of his pudgy fingers down my fenders and presses his chubby face to my windows, peering inside as though my abandoned contents my somehow provide him insight into the man that once saved his life.

This lasts for all of a week and half before Dean catches him in the act. "Ben, get away from there." His voice is raised, slightly angry, but he's not yelling.

Ben spins around, wide eyes falling on Dean in the doorway of the house. "I was just..." He glances back at me, double-takes, seems to notice something on my trunk.

It piques Dean's interest, too. "What?"

"Somebody wrote in the dust." He glances back at Dean.

Dean hesitates but crosses the yard to look at whatever's been etched into the dirt that's gathered on me. "Did you see who did this?" Dean questions, nervous gaze taking stock of the rest of me, watchful eyes turning to the yard.

Ben's gaze follows Dean's. "No, there was nobody."

Dean doesn't look convinced, looks paranoid. "Let's go inside."

They walk away from me but Dean pauses in the doorway and looks back at me, eyes scanning the street, but his attention is focused on me. Whatever is written or drawn in the dust on my trunk, Dean knows it means Sam.

He can't keep his eyes off me as the afternoon fades into night; he watches me through dinner, steals peeks at me from the living room after. Then, later, sometime in the middle of the night, he quietly sneaks out of the house, familiar jingle of my keys dangling from his hand. He unlocks me and climbs inside, but doesn't turn me on. Not at first.

But the silence stretches impossible long and loud and he shoves my key into my ignition, turns it just enough for the radio to crackle on; the tape's been ejected from the deck so a staticky commercial filters through my speakers.

We're reacquainting ourselves with each other, the creak of the passenger side door opening catches us both off guard.

"Sammy." Dean looks like he's seen a ghost. That's not exactly false.

"Hey, Dean," Sam greets as though it hasn't been months since they've last seen each other, since Sam – Lucifer contained inside him – disappeared into a chasm in the earth. "We need to talk." A sharp nod towards the dark stretch of suburban asphalt indicates this is going to be a long discussion.

Dean doesn't argue even though I can feel the tension in his body coiled tightly like a spring, like he's ready for a fight. But he just turns the engine over and – oh. I almost forgot how good it feels to have ethanol pulsing through my fuel lines, driveshaft and axles spinning as Dean presses his foot down on my gas pedal. I'm even, balanced, the boys in their places, things almost as they should be.

It's not perfect – nothing ever is – but it's close.

We're together again. And when we're together we're whole. A family.