Set a few months after AHBL. Just another angsty ficlet to keep you amused. Rated T for language, some swearing, it is the Winchesters after all. No wincest. This will be a multi chapter, my first. Not beta'd as I don't have one. Please forgive typos and errors.
I don't own Supernatural more's the pity.
Ever wonder what happened to John's Truck?
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"SAAM!" Dean roared a little louder as he wandered round, gazing at the piles of rusting cars and twisted metal of Bobby's yard.
Jesus H. Christ where has he got to, thought Dean as another rivulet of sweat snaked down his back to lodge in the grimy white vest he wore. He paused as he squinted into the distance, heat waves rising from the wrecks around him, adding to the insufferable heat radiating off the ground. It reminded him too much of the Hellfire he'd be facing soon.
He ran his tongue lightly over his lips, kicked away a scrap of rusty metal that had once been a camero's sump cover and hitched his thumbs in the pockets of his torn denims.
His attention was eventually drawn to the old wooden shed towards the back of the yard. It had a lean-to still standing along the back of it, kinda fallen down on one side, and big double barn doors across the front, paint peeling and cracked from the baking sun. Knew he surreptitiously avoided it and what was parked within. Noticing one of the doors gaping out a little, he sucked in his breath, pulled his lips over his teeth and took another glance around before slowly starting to head in that direction.
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Sam sat in the truck and remembered the last time he'd been in it with his father.
It still smelled of him, even after nearly a year of sitting in the barn, as if John's essence had somehow been absorbed into the very fabric of the truck itself. Gun oil and sweat and tequila mixed with leather.
The smell enveloped him.
Dad.
He didn't even know why he'd come in here.
He and Dean were resting again, holed up at Bobby's while waiting for more demonic omens to appear since the gate had opened.
Sam was tired of research, tired of trying to find a way out of the deal Dean had made.
He'd taken a walk and ended up here. Liked the cool stillness inside the barn. Pulled back the tarp, noting how carefully Bobby had attached it. Ran his hands over the bodywork, gleaming paintwork hidden under a layer of dirt. Built up from that last desperate dash to Lincoln, then sitting forgotten in an impound yard.
Sam grimaced a little. Knew the dirt wasn't good for the paint. John would have pitched a fit at the state of it, Sam thought. But he'd disappointed his father his whole life, and he didn't see a reason to change that now.
Bobby had brought back the truck from Lincoln in the days after John died. Didn't take him long to bust it out of the impound yard he'd traced it to, and towed it back home. Four slashed tyres indicative of why John failed to escape Meg that final time.
He'd set her up on blocks in the barn to protect the precious rims, before carefully drawing the tarpaulin over her dusty black bodywork. Pursed his lips as he patted her gently, a trusted steed put out to pasture. Magnificent in her day but now no longer required. In the long distance race she and John had run, she'd been cut down cruelly at the last hurdle.
He wondered how long she would languish there.
The boys had thanked him in the days afterward, cleared out the weapons and gear John kept stashed in her, and closed the doors of the barn.
The truck was Sam's now, Bobby heard Dean say it as they cradled beers on the front porch that night. Sam had nodded, gulped back the tears that threatened. Sucked a long draw on his beer to recover before turning to Bobby.
He saw the pain there and decided to save him from some of it.
"S'Okay, Sam. The truck can stay there for as long as it needs to. No rush to decide. She ain't goin anywheres," grateful nod answered, too raw for words yet.
She'd stayed there ever since, protected under her shroud, shielded from the elements, grounded by the blocks she rested on. Pushed away. Forgotten, it seemed.
The pain she bore them was too much, too soon.
Bobby was sure the boys hadn't even opened the doors of the barn during all their stays at the yard since then. He checked on her, periodically. Made sure she was safely blocked, carefully covered lest the rust get down to her skin. The thick layer of dust covering the tarp told Bobby she was as untouched as the day he had left her there.
Sam sat back into the black leather driver's seat of the Sierra and breathed deeply.
Didn't feel right.
He'd never actually driven it. Relegated always to the passenger seat. He leaned down and yanked the seat to push it back a bit, tried to make more room, but it made no difference.
The truck felt as alien to him as his Father had been.
He sighed deeply again as he fingered the leather steering wheel, and remembered the last time he'd sat in it.
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Colorado
"C'mon, Boys, let's head out. Salvation ain't getting' any closer," John paused as he stopped to scoop up the weapons duffel from the floor. The Colt was safely stashed inside.
"Hey, Sammy?" John caught his youngests gaze he plucked up his own duffel and swung it effortlessly onto his 6"5" frame.
"You fancy ridin' shotgun with your old man for a bit?" Asked casually, instead of ordered. Hid how much he really wanted him to. Ignored the hurt caused by the flicker of surprise in Sam's eyes.
Watched hard as they flicked quickly to Dean, seeking … something. Approval? Permission?
His boys' connection had deepened while he was absent.
He'd noticed it immediately.
Saw it in the way they worked effortlessly together, each protecting the other, no words needed. Was proud of them. They'd done on their own what he'd spent a lifetime trying to achieve by relentless pushing and bullying and training. They'd managed without him, flourished even. Two halves of a whole, each balancing out the other.
Dean made a point of turning his back on them, concentrating hard on rolling his jeans and packing his duffel.
He'd felt the change in them earlier.
Felt Sam soften and smile easily. Saw the hard lines etched by a year of worry, ease on his father's face. He didn't know what had been said while he'd been at the funeral home getting the dead man's blood, but he'd felt the difference between them, and was glad of it.
He heard the olive branch offered, something so hard for his dad, and he hoped Sam wouldn't piss on it, as he was prone to.
Seeing Dean's refusal to get involved, Sam hitched the duffel up although it didn't need it, before nodding. "Uh, sure Dad, no problem." Even managed to grin a little at his dad as he crossed to the door.
Dean chuckled to himself as the two filed out to the cars. Imagined the atmosphere of Sam and John sharing the truck for the next God knows how many hours. He wondered sadly how long the truce would last.
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Not that long as it turned out.
The first hour passed in companionable silence.
It wasn't that John didn't want to talk to his boy; he just didn't know where to start.
That grated on him some. He knew he still had ground to make up with both of them. Knew he'd let them down when they needed him most. Knew there were no words to fix the past or the hurt caused by his actions, good as his intentions had been. Knew that Dean understood, like he always did, and that Sam never would, cos he never had before.
Sam sat in quiet contemplation mostly, staring out the side window. He shifted regularly, finding the Sierra only slightly less uncomfortable than the Impala for folding his giant frame into. His butt creaked occasionally in the leather clad seat.
The truck reeked of John. Sam hadn't thought about that before.
The smell of home.
Of family.
It wasn't something you were aware of until it wasn't there. Then you were just aware that something wasn't right. Something was missing.
Wasn't missing any longer though. Was sitting right next to him, alive and well, and not talking.
Tense.
Silent.
Sam wondered where to start.
One year.
They'd been looking for him for one year, apart from the brief meeting in Chicago, and he couldn't think of anything to say.
Not one Goddamn thing. It grated on him some.
Well he'd soon fix that.
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To be continued
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