Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Chapter One

Dean gripped the taut chain link fence fiercely. Inside the fence sat a group of impounded cars, and right in the middle, seemingly serenely enough, was parked his Impala. The hot sun gleaned down on Dean' head, and a drop of sweat rolled down his back under his denim shirt. Dean didn't turn when he heard footsteps crunch on the gravel behind him. He already knew it was Sammy.

"Don't tell me you have nothing to say, Sammy," growled Dean, still looking at his black baby. "Don't tell me you are suddenly speechless."

Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, feeling the pressure of this brother's angst rest on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dean. This is all my fault."

Dean spun and looked at his younger brother, who suddenly looked down at his shoes. Sam knew he had been sloppy on this last case, careless even, and Dean had every right to be mad at him. It was Sam's fault that the Impala now sat where she was. But Sam hated when Dean was mad at him.

Dean strode past Sam without a word, his quick footsteps sending up puffs of dry desert sand under the hot Nevada sky. He marched to the mobile trailer that housed the auction office to sign in and get his number.

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One Week Later

"Son of a bitch...,"Dean murmured, his voice trailing off in disbelief. Sam smiled to himself, a little bit pleased that Dean was now the speechless one. The brothers had entered the home of one of the largest automobile auctioneers in the country. The giant structure was the size of a stadium, with the focus being the front runway area where the auctioned vintage cars were, one by one, pushed up a ramp in front of the auctioneer stand. Camera crews hovered on the current vehicle, broadcasting its sale nationwide.

Over the buzz of the large milling crowd, the auctioneer's voice could be heard: "I've got 10-10-10-do I have 10-5?"

Dean spoke out of the side of his mouth to Sammy, his eyes plastered on the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air that currently being put to bid. "He means ten thousand, five-hundred...right?"

"Right," Sam confirmed. He rubbed his sweating palms against his long, loose jeans. If Dean was not able to get the Impala back, if they were somehow outbid, he knew his brother would never forgive him. They both knew the auction was a cash-only business, and the security was tight enough that there would be no opportunity to take the Impala without paying. Sam patted the wad of cash in his pocket. They had worked hard in the past week raise the cash, gambling, playing pool and cards. Suddenly the tight rolls of bills that amounted to $6,500 felt very small.

Dean had punished his little brother severely this past week, giving Sam only curt one or two word answers, and sending him to a different casino than the one Dean would work. They would meet back at the motel at night, feasting on their all-you-can-eat take outs out of Styrofoam containers, silently watching the auto auction as it was broadcast each night. The auction had been running for four days already, and luckily, the Impala was not scheduled to go up for bid until the last day.

And now it was the last day.

The brothers slowly moved toward the front and slid into two seats, seeming to never take their eyes off the string of beautiful vintage vehicles that paraded past them on the stage. Dean sat on the edge of his seat, muttering at the high prices. And even though Sam could admit he wasn't really a "car guy" like his brother, he could appreciate the history of the classics that went up for bid.

A few cars later, the auctioneer announced the final vehicle of the program. A 1965 red corvette was pushed on the stage, and numbers rang out. In disbelief, the brothers watched the corvette being pushed off the stage and the cameramen shut off their glaring lights. Workers scrambled, winding up lengths of extension cords and packing equipment.

"Where's my car?" Dean whispered in dismay. He turned to Sammy, eyes pleading. "Did we miss her? Is she gone?"