Third Time's The Charm
Another day, another car dealership. This was beginning to get tedious and very annoying. He hadn't found a single car he liked!
"Here's one," Sam called, heading over to a bright red 2006 Dodge Dakota pick-up. "It's more than big enough to carry all of our stuff and us too."
Dean wrinkled his nose. "I said, car, not truck."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You're so picky, Dean. Can't we just buy a car and get out of here?"
Dean shook his head, turning away from the bright redness of the vehicle. "No. I'm not going to buy just any car, Sam, it has to be i the /i car."
"Dean…"
"C'mon, Sam." Dean faced his brother, his hazel eyes serious and solid. "Dad gave me that Impala. That car was his pride and joy, Sam."
"Must you get whatever Dad would get?" Sam asked pointedly. "Why can't you get a i modern /i car? They're just as good."
"This isn't about what Dad would want. I could care less about what Dad would want. I'm getting it for i me. /i These modern cars just don't have what the Impala did, or any classic car for that matter." Dean sighed. "And that piece of shit Honda isn't cutting it." Both he and Sam turned to the '03 Silver Honda Accent the car rental company had lent them.
Sam paused, before his shoulders slumped. "Alright. Let's grab a newspaper and browse the classifieds. Maybe someone is selling a car you like at a reasonable price."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. These dealerships don't know what a good car is."
Sam shook his head, muttering under his breath. Well, i he'd /i liked that Dakota. Oh well.
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Dean's frustrated groans and moans grew louder with each page thrown to the side. Sam turned his head, looking at his brother from where he lay on the bed beside the one on which Dean sat cross-legged, in a pile of newspaper pages. He'd heard nothing but complaints since Dean had regained consciousness at the hospital in Jefferson City after the crash. At least, he wasn't whining over his injuries for once…
"I'm guessing you haven't found anything yet," Sam spoke.
A page landed on the floor between the beds. "Nope. How the hell did Dad even find that car in the first place? It's impossible to find good cars like that."
Sam rose an eyebrow. "You're not trying to look for another '67 Impala are you?" He sat up.
"It would be nice," Dean replied. He sighed. "No, but, I haven't found a single one I like. Either the cars aren't what I want, or they're too damn expensive."
Sam got up and padded over to the laptop, turning it on.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked, strolling over to stand behind his brother's shoulder.
"Looking for cars," Sam replied.
"Let me know when you find something." Dean moved over to Sam's bed, flopping down heavily. "If I have to look through another classified today, I'll scream."
Sam shook his head, his eyes glued to the computer screen. i Google /i was the best website ever invented.
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It took a couple of hours of non-stop searching, but Sam finally found something he knew his brother would like. It was the same colour, the same year; exact same car. Not to mention, the guy selling it was only in the next town. $15,000 was the asking price. Everything was as it was when the guy bought it and in mint condition. Dean was going to love this.
Sam got up, and looked at his sleeping brother. To wake Dean, or not to wake Dean; that was the question. Sam shook his head, and quietly headed out the door. Sam had always preferred a surprised Dean to one who already knew what was going on.
He got into the rental car, cursing the lack of leg room. They just didn't make cars big enough anymore for those in society who were six feet or taller. He adjusted everything, then pulled out of the parking lot. The good thing about this car, - probably the only good thing – was the quiet engine.
Following the directions from i MapQuest /i , – another wonderful website – Sam made his way to the address of the guy who was selling the car.
Thirty minutes later, he found the farm and pulled in. A burly man of about sixty was working in the garden and looked up upon hearing the small car roll to a stop.
"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked when Sam got out.
"I heard you were selling that Impala," Sam said, approaching the man, the internet classified print-out in his hand.
"I was," the man replied. "And I just sold it not ten minutes before you got here."
Sam froze. "You're kidding…"
"No, sorry son," the man answered.
Sam sighed. "Okay, thank you anyway." He got back into the car, and with a small wave to the man, left. He punched the steering wheel. So much for that idea. If only he'd have been there ten minutes earlier. Dean would have had his car back. Granted, it wouldn't have been i his /i car, but still. Now what? He figured it was back to the motel room, and try again tomorrow.
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As he headed back for the interstate, a sign caught his eye: '66 THUNDERBIRD FOR SALE. SEE OWNER FOR DETAILS. The sign was on the edge of another piece of farm property. It was worth a shot. It wasn't the Impala, but it was something his brother might like.
He pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, and knocked on the door. A woman of about seventy answered.
"Yes?"
"Hi, I'm just asking about the Thunderbird you're selling," Sam spoke.
The woman shook her head, and Sam sighed.
"Sorry, son," she said. "My husband sold it yesterday."
Sam nodded. "Okay. Thanks anyway."
"Sorry," the woman said again.
"It's alright," Sam replied. "Thank you." And he got back into the cramped Accent, now even more discouraged than when he started. Had everyone sold their cars around here? Surely someone was selling something Dean would want that wasn't already sold.
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A couple of miles down the road, yet another sign stood at the edge of another farm property. '67 MUSTANG FOR SALE. SEE OWNER FOR MORE DETAILS.
Crossing his fingers, Sam pulled in, and knocked on the door. Third time's always the charm, right?
A woman of maybe thirty answered the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked. A three year old girl was wrapped around her left leg and a baby boy was in her right arm.
"Uh, yes," Sam replied. "I saw your sign for the Mustang."
She smiled. "Oh, yes. Just give me a minute and I'll be right there."
"Okay." Sam could've jumped for joy. Finally…
She turned away, to get rid of the kids Sam presumed, then came back a moment later. She led him to the barn, where a car stood underneath an old green army tarp.
"Go ahead and take a look," she said.
Sam lifted the tarp off of the car and nearly gaped. There in front of him, stood a black 1967 Ford Mustang. Everything was mint. The car shone, the rims gleamed in the sun coming through the cracks in the barn walls, the black leather interior was clean and in pristine condition. He couldn't believe it.
"Wow," he exclaimed quietly.
"It was my father's," she said. "He bought when he and my mom got married. He died four months ago and entrusted the car to me. I don't think he would have wanted it sitting in a barn for the rest of it's life. He would have wanted someone else to enjoy it too."
Sam looked at her. "Oh, I'm sorry about you–"
"It's okay."
"What are you asking?"
"Well, my dad bought it for about eight thousand," she replied. She looked up at Sam. "You can have it for seven."
"I'll buy it for eight," Sam said, counting out the money.
"Oh, no, seven's fine."
"No. I'll give you what he paid for it," Sam replied, handing her the cash.
She smiled. "Thank you. Just let me pass the ownership onto you and we'll be all set."
"Thanks."
She came back, and Sam signed the ownership under Dean's name. After all, this was going to be Dean's car, not his.
"Do you need any help getting back?" she asked, seeing the two cars.
Sam blushed. "Yes, please. Would you be able to drive the Honda?"
"Yeah, sure." They exchanged car keys and Sam got in behind the wheel of the Mustang. He whistled, running his fingers over the steering wheel. Dean would love this car for sure.
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He got back to the motel, thanked the woman, drove her back home, then returned the car to the rental shop. Fortunately for him, the motel was only about a 20 minute walk from the rental shop.
When he got back to the motel, Dean was still asleep. Not for long though. Sam picked up one of the thrown newspapers and ran it over Dean's nose. Dean's hand rose up, slapping himself in the face several times. Sam laughed as Dean awoke, glaring at him.
"Hello to you too," he grumbled. He sat up, going through his routine of yawning, stretching and scratching his head. "Did you find anything?"
With a wide grin, Sam opened the door and the blinds. "Take a look outside."
Dean's eyes widened to about twice their normal size and his jaw might as well have hit the floor. He pointed out the door. "What is that?"
Sam laughed. "That, my brother, is a '67 Mustang."
"A '67 'Stang?"
"A '67 'Stang."
Dean bolted from the bed and ran outside. He did a complete inspection of the car, the trunk, the paint job, underneath the hood, the rims… All before getting in behind the wheel.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, sticking his head out of the now open window.
"This woman was selling it," Sam replied. "But you owe me big time, dude."
"Why?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, for one, I spent eight grand on this thing; and for two, this was the third car I came across."
"The third? What were the other two?"
"A '66 Thunderbird, and… and a '67 Impala."
"Impala?" Dean asked, his voice sounding faraway.
"Yeah. The Impala was sold ten minutes before I got there and the Thunderbird was sold yesterday."
Dean sighed, still caught up on the Impala and the fact he'd never get another one quite like it. "The Impala… Man, I'm going to miss that car."
Sam nodded. "You and me both, Dean. There were a lot of memories in that car."
Dean got out of the Mustang and looked at his younger brother for a long moment.
"Look," Sam spoke. "I know it's not the Impala, but–"
Dean smiled, shaking his head. "That's okay." He wrapped his arms around Sam, which somewhat caught Sam off guard. "Thanks, dude."
"You're welcome."
Sam sighed. The third time is always the charm.
The End.