The Impala didn't like to think of herself as a snob, but she hoped Dean would spend less time than usual with this girl since he had left her parked next to an '89 Taurus. The Taurus looked older than his years, dented on the front left side and so dusty that it was hard to tell what its original paint color was. The Impala's black coat shone more under the parking lot lights in comparison.
Her thoughts were wandering back to the road when the Taurus decided to introduce himself. His name was Luke, he told her, after a guy on The Dukes of Hazzard. Chrissie had told him she wanted a classic charger, but Luke was what she could afford. Surprised, the Impala replied that Dean hadn't officially named her, but he had a tendency to call her Baby.
Luke was a talkative sort with a million stories he never really had a chance to share. Chrissie wasn't his first owner, but she was the best. She had gotten him at eighteen to commute to college. It was love at first sight for the both of them, and Chrissie took classes in auto repair so Luke would always have someone who cared changing his oil. The Impala explained that she was a gift from John to Dean. Dean had learned mechanics the same way he had learned guns, through hours of drilling with his father.
The Impala confessed to a secret love of Metallica and Blue Oyster Cult after hours upon hours of hearing Dean sing along. Luke told her how Chrissie refused to let anyone listen to pop princesses or emo rock in him, but that she did have a CD carkit so her friends could listen to Franz Ferdinand as they drove. Luke wasn't really happy until Chrissie was alone, and she unhooked the CD player so she could slip Duran Duran into the tape deck.
Luke didn't travel much, but when Chrissie turned twenty-one, they went on the mandatory road trip to Vegas. When her friends went into one of the casinos to gamble, Chrissie burned herself on the radiator making sure Luke hadn't overheated himself in the desert sun. The Impala had more road trip stories than she could count, so she shared about the time Dean had met the business side of a werewolf's claws in Minnesota. He hadn't let Sam patch him up until he'd put a tarp over the backseat, keeping the upholstery safe from more bloodstains.
Later, Dean had kissed Chrissie goodnight and driven off, humming to himself. Luke was visible in the rearview mirror, faded gold paint glinting dully under a layer of dust. For once, the Impala wished that they could have stayed just a little longer.