My entry for the supernatural.tv Third Wheel challenge. Basically, I had to write a story about the Metallicar, and since this has been knocking around in my head for a while, it's what I wrote. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you much!
Title: Her
Summary: Dean Winchester never really had a home, never really felt safe, could never be comforted or warm until he found her. She lsitened to him, she didn't judge him, and he loved her for it. He just wished she was different.
Rating: K
Warnings: Slight spoilers for Fresh Blood
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. I wish I did, though...
Her
He would hear the story later in life, the story of how he'd been born before his father could make it to the hospital, how she had been the first thing he'd ever seen, the first home he'd ever known.
He would wish, later in life, that she was different, more like him. That he could give her exactly what she had given him. He wanted to keep her safe, just as she had kept him safe. He wanted to listen to her as she had listened to him. He wanted to give her a home, as she had done for him.
Mostly, though, it was the selfish want that fueled the late-night requests that he whispered to the heavens.
He wanted her to love him as he had loved her. She had to be different for that.
o0o0o0o0o0o
He was four, but he understood one thing very clearly. His home was gone. His mommy was gone. His daddy had left with a gun and a strange man, left him and Sammy alone with people they didn't know, people who smelled like smoke and beer and blood and gunpowder. Dean didn't like the people.
He had run away without really running away. He'd snuck out to try and find comfort, someone who would care when he cried. His daddy didn't really care anymore, those people that he'd been left with didn't care, and Sammy was too young to care.
So he looked for warmth. And he found her.
He hadn't paid much attention when daddy had left, so he hadn't noticed that they'd traveled in the other man's car. He noticed now, though, now that he was alone and cold and hungry and scared.
He walked up to her slowly, as if afraid she might bite him, might lash out as everyone else had, might keep him out in the cold world, away from love and comfort and warmth.
She let him in. She gave him a soft bed and a blanket and wrapped him in a sense of home and safety and love. He knew at that moment that she would never leave him, not like his mommy had. She would take care of him.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Seriously?" Dean asked, his eyes wide as they scanned over the items in the small, poorly wrapped box.
John nodded. "Sure thing. You're getting older, and you're gonna need to have a way to get yourself and your brother around town when I'm gone."
Dean smiled wide, barely able to fight the urge to hug his father, an action that would probably earn him extra push-ups at their next training session. He settled for an excited "thanks, dad," before heading out the door and down to the driveway.
As always, she was waiting for him, waiting patiently. He looked again at the keys in his hands, unable to believe that his father had been willing to part with them.
He fell into her familiar embrace, as he so often did when he had news of any kind and no one else to tell it to. No one who could ever understand, anyway.
"I'm gonna take care of you," he whispered as he leaned into the sun-warmed leather, breathing in the sweet scent of safety that he had associated with her since the fire, "called it repayment for services rendered."
It was the best birthday ever, and he knew she felt the same.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"He left." Those were the first words out of Dean Winchester's mouth, spoken as soon as he had sat down. He stared blankly at her, as if waiting for a reply, waiting for her to scoff at him, to tell him off, to tell him that she wasn't in the mood for a conversation at the moment.
But she didn't say anything. She wasn't like his father. She didn't blame him for every problem, didn't yell at him, didn't brush off his problems. She loved him. She listened to him. She never laughed, not like all of the others, not like the many people in his life that walked in and out, a revolving door of attachment and loss that he couldn't take anymore.
"He left," Dean said again, after a pause, "he left and he isn't coming back. I couldn't stop him."
Still, she was silent, listening, waiting, giving him time to work it all out, time to process. He appreciated her for that.
"He said it's because of dad, because of the drills and the hunts and everything, but I know the truth. It's me." He leaned back against her, letting out a soft, sad sigh as she wrapped around him, encompassing him in familiarity, in comfort, in home. "I was never good enough. Not for either of them. They hate me."
The last words came out as a whisper, something he would never admit to anyone but her, because no one else could possibly understand. He leaned his head back, resting it against cool leather. He felt safe when he was with her, like maybe he could do something right, like maybe life wasn't hopeless. She needed him, after all. Someone needed him.
o0o0o0o0o
He knew it was wrong, and he told her so. That didn't change the way Dean felt about it. He was happy and his brother was broken. It was horrible, an awful way to act and think and feel, but he couldn't help it.
"She's dead and he's messed up," the hunter confessed, "and I'm ok with that. More than ok, actually, because he came back. You heard him, right? He said he wasn't gonna stay, but now he is. He wants to stay with us. Does that make me a bad person?"
She didn't respond, as usual, but her silence spoke volumes.
No, he wasn't selfish, at least she didn't think so. She loved him, and he could do no wrong in her eyes. Sam was the selfish one. He had left, had abandoned everything and everyone. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe Dean was right to be glad that Jessica was dead. After all, it had brought his brother back to him. And she understood. She understood everything.
o0o0o0o0o0o
He could feel his life slipping away slowly, but that didn't matter. He was bleeding on her, marring her perfection. And still, she didn't get mad.
She had always been there, had always listened, and now she was going to watch him die, to usher him into the hereafter. He leaned back into her, an unconscious action that brought comfort to him in his final minutes.
Lights shone in through the window and he cowered farther into her, trusting her to keep him safe as he had kept her safe for so long.
And then everything went black. For both of them.
o0o0o0o0o
He hated to see her like that, weak and helpless as he had once been. It would be hard, but he knew that he could fix her, knew that everything would be fine if he could just accomplish that single, daunting task.
After all, if he could fix her, she would be able to fix him. And he needed fixing. He needed fixing badly.
o0o0o0o0o
He hated the thought of leaving her all alone in the cold world. What way was that to repay her unending kindness? But he had no choice. He'd never had a choice. He could see that now. It had always been him or Sam growing up, and that's what it had come down to back in South Dakota. Him or Sam. The choice was obvious.
He still hated to abandon her, even if Sam would look after her. Truth be told, he didn't trust his brother with her care, didn't trust that Sam would know about her like he did, protect her like he did, love her like he did.
He showed his brother the ropes, anyway. It was better to leave her in semi-capable hands than in cold, heartless hands that didn't understand.
With luck, Sam would see her as an extension of Dean, a way to stay close to his brother once the year was up. With luck, Sam would grow to love her. Maybe not the way Dean did, but in a way all his own. That was all the older man could hope for.
o0o0o0o0o
He could tell that she was happy for him. She knew the moment he approached her that he was safe, that he was free, that he was no longer damned. And she was happy for him.
"Had a big celebration," he reported as she encompassed him in her unending warmth and understanding once more. "Gotta hand it to Sammy. The kid knows his stuff."
Sam had come through, had figured a way out of the deal, some sort of loophole involving the Leap Year and the exact wording of the contract. All of that wasn't important to Dean, though. He was glad, sure, but there were more important things than his immortal soul.
His brother would be safe now, safe for as long as Dean was around, and that was great. But Sam wasn't the only one who would be protected. No, she was safe again, too, back in capable hands, hands that caressed her, that fixed her, that loved her.
She was safe. That made Dean safe. And that was all that mattered.
o0o0o0o0o
He hadn't slept. He'd been too full of conflicting thoughts. They were selfish thoughts.
How dare his brother leave him all alone again, how dare he try to go back to normal, how dare he abandon his protector to run off to law school? What had school ever done for him, anyway? It had built up his hopes and then sent him down a spiraling path of darkness. It had given him what he truly wanted and then ripped it away. So why go back?
Because the demon was dead, of course. Because Dean was a free man again. Because their mess had been cleaned up. Because he wanted it, and whatever he wanted, Dean gave him. That was the way it had always worked.
He'd promised to call, had promised to write, had promised to let Dean visit him whenever the spirit moved him. He'd seemed reluctant to leave, but that reluctance hadn't stopped him. He was gone, and Dean was alone. Alone, except for her.
She was waiting for him. He needed to see her, to tell her everything, to get it off his chest, to admit his failure as brother and father and friend. He needed her reassuring silence, her warmth, her love. He needed to know that she would never leave him.
He rolled from his bed and threw on some clothes, not really caring how he looked. She never cared, never judged, only listened intently.
He pulled open the door and gasped, his blood running cold in his veins, heart stopping.
She was gone.
He burst from the door, head whipping wildly around in an attempt to find her. She was nowhere, gone, vanished.
His mind went first to Bela. After all, she was the only one stupid enough to try and take her away from him, but the mercenary had been dead nearly three months, dead by his own, forced hand. He had no other immediate enemies, none that would take her away to get back at him, anyway.
"Looking for something?" a soft voice asked from behind him.
He spun, muscles tensing, readying for a fight. He found himself facing a young woman, about his age, with long dark hair, bright eyes, and tanned skin. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her black leather jacket, a jacket which nearly covered up the Chevy logo on her shirt.
"Yeah, actually," he said slowly, still unsure whether or not he could trust the stranger, "my car. You know something?"
"Actually," she smiled, stepping forward and placing her hands into his, "I do." She leaned against him, close enough that he could smell her, the familiar scent of safety, of comfort, of home.
He gasped, stumbling back a step, yet never taking his hands from hers. "You…?"
"You can call me Christine," she smiled, radiating warmth and safety and love, everything he'd ever associated with her.
"How?"
She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, moving in close, enclosing him in that sense of belonging that he'd only ever felt from her. "Sometimes wishes really can come true without a price," she whispered, "now, why don't you tell me what happened to Sam?"
"Sure thing, Babe," he breathed, leading her into the room, knowing in his heart that he would never be alone, that she would never leave, that she would stay and he could be happy and they could start a family together. She would listen to him, would love him, would care for him, just as she always had, ever since his birth.
So, that's that. What do you think? As I said before, reviews are love, and I love love :)