AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, I just wanted to say that the inspiration for this fic came from a couple of posts on tumblr; I just expanded it. I can't remember exactly where I saw them but if you search the ianpala tag, you'll be able to find them rather easily. So, thanks to the people that posted those. Also, I picked the name Damon because of his character on the Vampire Diaries because I like the name and I'm lazy. There may one day be a sequel, but I don't know. As always, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

Sam was reeling in surprise upon finding out that their car had been turned into a human. Said human was shockingly a strangely attractive male. He was wearing black jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. Black hair fell in front of piercing blue eyes and pale, chiseled features. What he didn't expect, even more than him being human, was the angry look on Damon's—as they'd decided to call him—face when Dean tried not to have an emotional reaction to the situation.

Damon's jaw clenched. "Sam, can you give your brother and I some privacy?"

Sam went to say that he wouldn't be leaving his brother alone with someone he didn't know when they were so angry, but Dean interrupted him. "Baby—Damon, please don't," Dean pleaded.

"Don't 'baby' me, Dean Winchester," he growled. "You constantly do this. You never talk about what's going on in your head to someone that talks back. Talking at me when I'm a car, but not when you know I'm listening isn't okay. You let it bubble up so much that you took a crowbar to me and put scars in my back that will never come out." While saying that, Damon stripped his jacket and shirt to show the man the long-healed gashes across his back.

Sam gasped, not knowing that Dean had done that to his precious car.

"You're such a stubborn jackass that you didn't talk about your dad dying or anything else that's bothering you," Damon continued, his icy blue eyes were piercing as he glared at the Winchester.

The younger brother turned to see Dean looking rather upset.

"I didn't know . . . that it had hurt you like that."

"Yeah, Dean, it sucked," Damon snarled He stepped closer to the man he was lecturing. Both men had the aforementioned incident playing on repeat in their minds. "But do you know what hurt even more? That I saw how much it hurt you, that I felt all of your pain . . . And I couldn't do a goddamn thing about it."

"What do you want me to say, Baby?" Dean's voice was practically begging now.

Damon cupped Dean's face in his hands. "Talk to me," he leaned his forehead against Dean's. "Until—If we ever get this fixed, just talk to me."

He nodded weakly. "Okay."

"Dean, what the hell was that?" Sam demanded while Damon was in the shower a few hours later. "When did you destroy the car?"

"When I was rebuilding her—him after the crash. I took my anger out on him after Dad died," he admitted. "I also have the tendency to talk to him when things are rough. Just . . . don't make a big deal about it okay?"

"Of course I'm going to make a big deal about it, Dean," Sam argued indignantly. "You're my brother and you don't want to talk to me about things? You'd rather talk to a car than me."

Damon stepped back into the room with a scowl on his face. "Sammy, I'm going to tell you this once: Back of and think about everything Dean's done for you since he pulled you out of that fire when he was four." He clapped his hands together. "Now, I'm not used to being human, and I need to sleep."

"So do we," Dean chimed in quietly. "You can share my bed, Damon. Get some rest, Sammy; we can talk about this tomorrow."

Sam had to bite back his protest as the two laid down. Instead, he plopped back-first onto the bed and proceeded to lie there, thinking, for the next few hours. Occasionally, he glanced over to the other bed to see what they were doing.

Since both of the other men were topless, Sam easily saw the "SW" and "DW" that were scarred into place on the former car's left shoulder. The handprint from Cas stood out vibrantly against Dean's shoulder in the moonlight. Even in their sleep, the two drifted just close enough that Dean's fingers brushed Damon's side. It seemed the man drew comfort from the being that was usually the Impala despite his shape.

The morning saw Dean waking up with a warm, fleshy pillow under his head and a hand running through his short hair. "What're you doing?" he mumbled.

"You were having a nightmare about Hell again," Damon explained. "This is my way of helping now that I can."

"Why are you doing this for me? Why do you care so much?"

Damon's hand once again drifted to cup Dean's cheek. "Because I'm yours. Always have been, ever since you talked your dad into buying me. I know better than anyone that you haven't had anyone care about you without an agenda since your mom died. Now, I can do something about it, and I'm going to."

By this point, Sam was awake and listening to the hushed conversation.

Dean closed his eyes as he tried to let the unfamiliar feeling of someone simply wanting to help wash over him. "Thank you," he whispered.

Damon leaned down to place a soft kiss to his best friend's lips. "Just promise that you won't stop telling me things now that I can talk back."

He nodded. "I promise."