I disclaim.

AN: So, I wrote this for the spnflashfic challenge: about a car, but I kinda lost sight of the prompt with this one, so... here this is, and the prompt fic will be... different.


Here be monsters

It wasn't until they were all packed and almost ready to leave for Salvation that John remembered something that had been bugging him, on and off, all year.

His favourite Swiss Army knife, languishing – or so he hoped and suspected – in the unexplored depths of the Impala's trunk.

Sam was stuffing all their research into some semblance of order; Dean was pretending to check them out so he could flirt with the receptionist, and so John got the trunk open in relative privacy.

Christ alive, it was a mess. What had he always taught those two about keeping things tidy, in their places?

Apparently neither of his boys could be bothered to remember. Books strewn all over, loose shirts, a length of bloodstained bandage stuffed in a corner, and that was seriously disgusting, herb-bags for cleansing houses, one of which had split and spilled in another corner, a woman's bra – charming, boys, real charming – and… there. Yes! His pocket-knife.

It, at least, was pristine.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity that made him lean back into the trunk.

Print-outs from a website called , an empty bottle of lighter fluid, a fake police badge with Dean's photo and the name 'Greg Washington' on it, a Boston tape, and… was that… no way.

Suits?

"Dad? What are you doing in my trunk?"

"Christo," John said, grinning. "What's with the suits?"

"Well, there was this… thing… in Pennsylvania, where we… look, it was Sammy's idea, OK? And he made me get on a plane."

"Suits," John said, still grinning, completely enjoying his oldest son's embarrassment. "In this car?"

"Oh, screw you, anyway," Dean said. "When was the last time you wore one?"

John laughed out loud. "My wedding-day, probably."

"So who are you to criticize my suit-wearing habits? And like I said. Sam's idea in the first place."

John looked over at his youngest as he appeared in the doorway to the motel room, laptop bag in one hand, tugging the door shut with the other. He didn't notice them watching.

"Bet he can do suits better than either of us," John said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean answered, just as quiet. "He can."

But then John laughed again, helplessly. "After all the effort I put into him, too."

Dean doubled up, shaking with laughter; Sam gave them both an odd look as he crossed the parking lot towards them.