As soon as Dean was finished making love to the Impala and got inside, of course the first thing he noticed was the IPod. Sam figured there could've been a tiny dot of ink on the most hidden section of seat vinyl, and Dean would've known it just as soon as he got in.
It didn't matter though. It seriously did not matter to Sam when Dean made the face and the snarky remark and ripped the IPod out and tossed it in the back seat. He could've thrown it out the window and drove over it with the car for all Sam cared about it at that moment. All he cared was that it was Dean who was doing the snarling and the ripping and the tossing.
They were together and Dean was behind the wheel and nothing else mattered in the world.
SPN*SPN*SPN
It was another gas station, in another town, in another state.
In another world.
The Impala was too close to empty to keep going so Sam pulled into the Mom & Pop gas-station-slash-quickie-mart in some little one-horse town. In fact, the station wasso Mom & Pop, Mom was actually the one pumping the gas. Gray hair, a gray t-shirt proclaiming 'World's Sweetest Grandma!', and a bright, friendly demeanor that Sam couldn't bear right now.
"Hi! What can I get for you?" She asked as he got out of the car.
"Could I have forty dollars of the premium? Please?" He felt like he was putting all the effort he had into talking, but his voice was hardly above a whisper.
"Sure thing." She grabbed the nozzle and moved around to the back of the car like she knew right where the gas tank was hidden behind the license plate. Sam rested back against the side of the car and fought the urge to close his eyes. He had no idea where he was or where he was going but somehow he had to get from here to there anyway.
"You in town for the classic car rally tonight?" 'Mom' asked. It took a second for Sam to realize she was talking to him.
"No." He said. He didn't even look at her.
"Sweet car like this, there'll be a lot of people who'll -."
"I said NO." Sam wanted her tojust shut up. And she did. The only sound was the hum of the gas pump, traffic down the narrow main street, people walking past on the sidewalk. A normal day in a normal little town.
Normal. Right.
Another car pulled into the station at the other side of the pumps and 'Mom' walked over to help them. That guy was a lot friendlier towards her than Sam had been and they got into a laughing conversation.
Sam ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He needed a shave and a shower and one halfway decent reason to not blow his brains out the next crossroads he came to. But no reason presented itself. He opened the car door to sit down and wait for the gas tank to fill, but he saw the accumulated fast food trash scattered over the passenger seat and floor, and he leaned in to gather it up and toss it out.
He couldn't let Dean see the car like this.
The realization that Dean wouldn't – would never - see the car ever again, hit Sam and he sank down sidewise in the driver's seat, staring at the hamburger wrappers and French fry cartons gripped in his hands.
Every morning, every night, every time he walked away from the car or walked back to it, every time he turned around, Sam still expected Dean to be there. Impatient, bossy, concerned, laughing, smiling, scowling, singing off key on purpose, just there. Sam still expected Dean to be there. And it was getting more and more likely that he'd never be there again.
"…car rally tonight?"
The words worked their way into Sam's brain slowly and he looked up to find the other customer watching him expectantly.
"No." God, why wouldn't these people leave him alone?
"A sweet ride like this -."
"Bob." 'Mom' interrupted him. "Let him be. He's had a long drive and a hard day. Be glad he's not gonna be there. Nobody'd be looking at your old Rambler if his car was there."
His car.
That sounded odd to Sam. This wasn't his car, this was Dean's car. Couldn't she tell just by looking at him that he wouldn't own a car as nice as this?
She finished up with the other man, Bob's, gasoline and replaced his gas cap, took his money and sent him on his way, then turned back to Sam.
"You doin' okay, honey?"
"Yeah. Thanks." He felt bad for yelling at her before. "I didn't deserve you defending me."
"Nonsense. Think nothing of it." She shrugged it off, and nodded to the trash in his hands. "Looks like you feed your car better than you do yourself."
"I'm not as -." As what? As classic? As worthwhile? As valuable? "- as old as the car is." And the rate he was going, he never would be as old as the car.
'Mom' just smiled and shook her head and went to the back of the car and Sam stood to toss out his trash and find some money to pay her. He had some twenties in his wallet and he pulled two of them out instead of a credit card. The way his vision was swimming, he wouldn't be able to read any of the names on any of the cards anyway, and anyway it was just quicker to pay cash and be on his way rather than have to wait and sign something.
"You can't take care of your car if you don't take care of yourself." She said when she came back to him.
"S'not my car." Tears filled his eyes at having to say it loud. God, he was so tired and so lonely and so angry. "It's my brother's car." If Dean was here, Dad even, they would've already been chatting this woman up for local history and tragedies and 'anything strange ever happen around here…?' But Dad was dead. And Dean was dead. And Sam wanted somebody to care. Somebody who wasn't burdened with the minutiae of deals and hell and galling impossible possibilities of release. "He died last week."
"Oh honey – I'm so sorry."
"He would've gone to your car rally." Sam said quickly and gestured vaguely out to the town. "He would've tuned her up and polished her up and made sure she was the most noticed car there. He loved cars, and rock music. He – he – I can't listen to his music anymore. I can't listen to his cassettes and I can't change the channel on the radio…"
He realized he was rambling, and 'Mom' was probably just waiting to be paid.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to -." Sam handed over the money and couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It helps to talk, I know that. My man died and it took nearly a year before I thought of this place as mine."
"Yeah – I – thanks." It was all he could say and not break down. "Thanks." She must've sensed his distress. All she answered was,
"I'll get your change. I'll be right back."
"Thanks."He sank back into the driver's seat as she walked away, and rested his head in his head in his hand to wait for her. His heart, his memory, every cell in his body, waited for Dean to appear at the car –'you think you're driving? Seriously?' – and fill up the hole that Sam was inexorably crumbling into.
But it was only 'Mom' who appeared again. She handed him a brown paper bag, heavy and full of something, but Sam didn't take it. He looked at her, confused.
"You need real food and I don't need to hear any argument." She pushed the bag into his hands. "There's a sandwich and fruit and some chocolate bars. And your change is in the bag too. Now, there's a couple of fine motels seventeen miles down this road. I want you to go find yourself some place to have a decent night's sleep."
Sam stared at her, and nodded, and almost forgot to say, "Thank you."
"You take care of yourself, honey." She smiled and closed his door for him and went back into the gas station.
Sam started the car and drove away. The motels were in sight before he realized – change? He wasn't supposed to get any change. He pulled into a parking lot and opened the bag. There, tucked next to the water bottle and Reeses and apple and a sandwich wrapped in cellophane, there he found his forty dollars paper-clipped to a note and a chunky square of newspaper.
'Your brother would want you to be okay.' The note said. 'It'll take a while but it will be your car. Until then, Walmart is a mile past the Pleasant Rest motel.'
Wal-Mart?
Sam looked at the piece of newspaper – Wal-Mart was having a sale on Ipods.
SPN*SPN*SPN
"You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up." Dean complained.
Sam had forgotten the satisfaction he could get out of annoying his big brother. He gave his best 'who, me?' innocent face and shrugged and just to irritate Dean a little more said, "I thought it was my car…"
Dean shot him another withering glare, and Sam grinned. He couldn't help grinning. Dean was back. Sam didn't care if he never listened to his Ipod again.
The End