I drive your truck
Eighty nine cents in the ash tray, half empty bottle of Gatorade rolling on the floor, that dirty braves cap on the dash, dog tags hanging from the rearview, old scull can and cowboy boots, and a go army tee shirt folded in the back. This thing burns gas like crazy, but that's alright. People got there ways of coping and I've got mine. I drive your truck. I roll every window down and I burn up every road in this town. I find a field and I tear it up until all the pain is dust. Yeah sometimes I drive your truck.
Dean climbed into the front seat of Bobby's truck and took a deep breath, "Bobby…. I made you swear you wouldn't check out. You wanted to know how I was doing. Well not good, and Sam isn't much better. We still… I need you Bobby."
Sam came over to the truck, "Dean, do you want to call Bobby's people or should I?"
Dean snorted, "I'm not calling anybody. If you want to call go ahead. I'm going to go grab us some beer. Do you want grub? Sam? Sammy?"
Sam shook his head to clear it, "I don't want to call anybody and I'm not hungry. Why aren't you driving the impala?"
Dean rolled his eyes, "The engine needs some work. No telling what those evil jerks wearing our faces did to it. Bobby wouldn't just want his truck to become scrap. So I figured you would drive the impala and I would drive Bobby's truck."
Sam smiled sadly, "Alright. Dean just…."
Dean turned and faced his little brother, "What? I'm tired Sam. I'm just tired."
Sam swallowed, "Do whatever you have to do to get through this just don't get killed."
Dean didn't say anything he just climbed into Bobby's truck and drove away after slamming the door. He leaned back in the driver seat and squeezed his eyes shut. He could smell the potent odors of whiskey, wood smoke and gun powder those scents he had always identified with home belonging and safety even when he was only four years old he knew that Bobby was someone he could always count on. Under his breath he muttered, "Dam it Bobby. I always hated this truck."
Dean couldn't keep his sobs back anymore. He pulled into an empty field and drove as fast as he could. After awhile he rolled all the windows down just how Bobby would drive them around during the summer when they were kids. Dust from the field rose up in clouds and coated everything, but he still didn't stop driving. Tracks of dust and dirt mingled with his tears blurring his vision but he didn't care. He just let the pain get covered by the dust.
I leave that radio playing the same old country station where you left it. Yeah man I crank it up. You'd probably punch my arm right now if you saw this tear rolling down my face. I'm trying to be tough. Mom asked me this morning if I'd been by your grave. That flag and stone ain't where I feel you anyway. I drive your truck I roll every window down. I burn up every back road in this town. I find a field. I tear it up until all the pain is a cloud of dust. Yeah sometimes I drive your truck. I've cussed, I've prayed, I've said goodbye. I shook my fist and asked God why. These days when I'm missing you this much I drive your truck. I roll every window down. I burn up every back road in this town. I find a field. I tear it up until the pain is a cloud of dust. Yeah sometimes I drive your truck. I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind. I drive your truck.
Once Dean had considerably calmed down he pulled into a diner and grabbed burgers and fries for him and Sam. Then he took the back roads back to the cabin. Sam heard the truck's engine and sighed in relief; that relief was short lived when he saw the tracks of dirt and tears on his brother's face, "Dean? You will me man?"
Dean cleared his throat, "Yeah. Anybody call? Did Frank get any leads on Dick?"
Sam sighed, "Dean I know you want to kill Dick for what he did to Bobby but we have no leads. The smart thing would be for us to just stay low. The only call I got was from Judy Mills. She wanted to know if we had been to Bobby's grave site since well you know…:"
Dean snapped, "Sam we gave Bobby a hunter's final send off. There is no grave. The only things left of Bobby are this flask and his truck. When I miss him I go for a long drive on the back roads pull into the nearest empty field I can find and get dirt and dust all over everything until the pain goes away. I won't even change the radio station even though Bobby listened to country music which I can't stand."
Sam nodded and sat down, "Ok Dean."
In the middle of the night Dean climbed into Bobby's truck and rested his head on the steering wheel, "I can't sleep Bobby. I didn't want to wake Sam up. He doesn't get much sleep anymore. Can I stay with you?"
Dean felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, "I know you'd probably punch me for crying like this if you were still alive. You always said no chick flick moments. I'm trying to be strong but it's so hard."
Bobby's spirit squeezed Dean's shoulder, "I'm right here Dean. You keep driving my truck and hanging on to my things as long as you need to. I don't mind Dean. I don't mind. I won't leave you boys either not while we still have a job to do. I promise. I'm not gunna quit on you but you gunna meet me half way. Go inside and get some sleep. I'll keep watch over Sam."
Dean woke up with a start and groggily made his way into the cabin. He didn't know why but he felt safer than he had in the four weeks since Bobby's death. Quietly so he wouldn't wake Sam he crawled into bed and pulled the blankets around himself, "If you are still out there Bobby send me some sort of a sign."
Bobby spoke softly hoping that Dean would hear him, "I'm right next to your brother. I promise I will find some way to let you boys know I'm here. Then we can beat Dick for good and this all will be over."
