TWO

Insomnia sucks. Déjà vu sucks too, thought Dean as he woke up for the millionth time that day.
If Sam changed the song on the radio, he woke up. If they hit a pothole, he woke up. If they turned a corner, he woke up. So far, he'd managed about half an hour of actual sleep in a six-hour drive.
He still had the constant feeling of another person in the car, but the presence wasn't like others. It felt almost…familiar. Friendly, even.
Dean was always sure that it was just delirium from pain and fever, but he swears that more than once he's heard things. One particular occasion stood out in his mind.
It had been a bad hunt, and Dean had been injured. His wounds had gotten infected, and there had been a mad rush to the hospital. Lying in the front seat, wrapped in a blanket and with his head in Sam's lap, he had sworn that there was someone else. The voice had definitely been male, and was definitely not Sam's – it was far too low for Sam, and too low even for Dad. He can still remember exactly what it had said.
Hold on, Dean. Hang in there. Not far now – just another ten miles.
Just another eight miles. Not far now.
You're gonna be okay. Keep fighting, you gotta hang in there.
Just another four miles.
Two more miles. Hold on, Dean. Just hold on.
We're here, Dean. You're gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay. You just have to hold on, okay? Can you do that for me? Please? Can you hold on? Can you hang in there?
He had held on. He'd fought off the infection, and he'd recovered. Since then, he had always told himself that what he heard was just a fever-induced hallucination.
He wasn't so sure now. Dean shuddered, and turned up the radio.

--

Sam woke up. Dean's bed was empty again.
They'd made it to Tallahassee. Dean had turned unusually quiet and jumpy. Sam wasn't sure what had spooked him, but it had to be something serious.
Sleepily, he trudged downstairs, through motel foyer door, passed the staring clerk, and shuffled out into the parking lot. Dean, dressed only in his grey shirt and sweat pants, had chalked a devil's trap around the Impala and was now rapidly reciting an exorcism over it. Sam frowned.
It wouldn't be the first time that the Impala had been declared 'possessed'. First, it was just after Dad's first hunt. A poltergeist had decided it would be fun to possess a car. It never really hurt anyone, until it slammed Bobby's hand in the passenger's-side door and broke his wrist. After that, the poltergeist just had to go.
Then, just after a hunt in Texas, the spirit of a witch thought the Impala the perfect target. The three of them had spent two hours dodging the enraged machine and trying to herd it into a Devil's Trap. Then Dean had fumbled the spray paint can, and they had to repeat the exercise, and then take Dean to the hospital to have his fingers splinted and his skull X-rayed for damage caused by a steel bumper.
There were a few more times after that, but the one Sam remembered best was when the ghost of a very cautious driver had decided to take over, just after Dean had gotten the car and his driver's license. Dean had been okay with it for a while – despite how it pissed him off that it wouldn't let him drive any more than five miles over the speed limit, and would force him to follow the road rules – but as soon as he had been off of his probationary license, the ghost had been forced out of the car. Sam had been almost apologetic as he'd recited the Latin words – he had really liked that guy, not because he actually followed the road rules but because he had been able to put up with Dean's atrocious driving habits.
Since Sam had rejoined him, the car had been perfectly normal. The only time it had really been possessed was when Constance had taken over driving, but he didn't count that seeing as it was only for a few seconds at a time.
Sam shuffled over to his older brother, and sleepily said, "Dean, it's five-thirty in the morning. Isn't it a little early for this?"
"No," was his brother's tense reply. He could see a muscle twitching in Dean's jaw, and the artery in his neck pulsing. Clearly, Dean was not to be argued with at this time. After all, it was the Impala involved. That made it personal.
Exorcism over, Sam watched with vague amusement as Dean edged towards the car and put one hand on the driver's-side door.
The engine growled into life, the door unlocked and opened, and the seat automatically adjusted itself. Both men started backing away.
The door then slammed shut, the engine growl cut out, and the doors locked themselves.
As they returned to the hotel room, Dean cursing under his breath, Sam said, "People who get up at this hour are nuts."
He was rewarded with a bruising punch to the ribs.

--

Later, they decided to attempt to drive the car to Bobby's. Dean rang ahead, to see if Bobby had any ideas.
"Sounds like the car's possessed again."
"I know, I tried an exorcism and it didn't work."
"Well…there is something else."
"If it'll get this…ghost or whatever outta my baby, I'll do it."
"Sometimes, things sorta…retain imprints of people. Like second-hand jewelry."
"Yeah, I remember hearing something about that. What's it got to do with the Impala?"
"How old would you say that car is?"
"About forty or so years."
"And how many owners do you reckon it's had in that time?"
"Three that I know of including us, probably more."
"Exactly."
"So how do I get rid of the imprint?"
"Generally, you have to bury the object in rock salt overnight."
"I'm not burying my baby in rock salt! Where would we even get enough to do that?"
"You could try salt water." Dean swore he could hear amusement in Bobby's voice.
"Bobby, I can't believe you even suggested that! I'm not burying my baby in salt, and I'm not driving her into the ocean. End of story."
"What else do you want me to do, Dean? There is no other way of getting rid of the imprint. It's just how things work."
"There has to be another way."
"If there is, nobody knows it. I can tow her to my place if you like."
"No, I think we'll be fine driving."
"Be careful, Dean. We won't know what this is until I can take a good look at it. Nobody's tampered with the car?"
"Not that I know of."
He clearly heard Bobby sigh in exasperation. "Fine. You run into trouble, call me."
"Alright. See you in a few hours."

--

Dean hung up, and sighed, muttering, "Drive my baby into salt water, fucked if I'm doing that."
Sam finished lacing up his sneakers and said, "Gotta agree with you on that. The Impala's the only car we have – if we lost her, we'd have to borrow or steal. There's no way we can afford a new car without selling practically everything we own."
"Mm." Dean threw Sam's duffel bag at him, and headed out to the car with his own slung over a shoulder. They'd already swept up the salt lines and triple-checked the room for anything left behind.
Next came the exercise of getting into the car. Dean advanced towards the black Chevrolet with the attitude of someone approaching a sleeping demon. The car seemed to look at him sulkily.
Get over it, Winchester, it's just a car. It can't look at you – it doesn't have eyes. Dean shook his head. What the hell am I thinking?
Tense and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger, he cautiously reached out and put one hand on the trunk.
It sprang open at a touch. He swallowed hard, and then experimentally rested his wrist on the edge. If the door slammed shut now, it would probably sever his hand.
Several minutes later, with no improvised amputation, Dean shut the trunk. The back doors opened for him and Sam to put their bags in, then slammed shut and locked as soon as they were done. As soon as Dean tried to unlock the front doors, however, the key refused to turn in the lock.
He rolled his eyes as the Impala continued to stare at him (in the odd way that it stared without eyes) accusingly. With a frustrated sigh, he said, "Alright. I'm sorry."
The car continued to stare at him as if saying, you didn't mean that.
Fast becoming very pissed off, he growled, "Sam, do something. The car's being even more of a bitch than you."
Sam shrugged. "I'm not the one who pissed it off at five in the morning, jerk."
Dean made a frustrated sound and snarled, "Sam, we're not gonna make it to Bobby's unless you do something."
"Well it's not going to take an apology from me. It's your car. You fix its emotional issues," said Sam rather casually. He waited, wondering how long it would take Dean to admit that he was in the wrong. Stupid stubborn older brother.
Turning back to the car, Dean silently prayed to whatever deities were listening for patience, and muttered, "Look, I really am sorry I pissed you off. It's just…we're all a little on edge at the moment, and strange things happening to you usually equals demonic possession in my book. I made a mistake. I'm sorry."
The Impala's demeanor seemed to change as if to say, apology accepted. The front doors swung open, and the engine roared into life. The radio began blasting out AC/DC, although the volume dropped a little when Sam rolled his eyes. Dean slid into the driver's seat, smiling. The car didn't even wait for them to put seatbelts on – it began backing out as soon as the doors were closed.
A few miles down the road, Dean's grin broadened and he held his hands up. "Hey Sam! Look, no hands!"
Sam sighed and said, "Dean, can you not do that?"
Dean was still grinning like an idiot. "What, am I scaring you?"
"No, but what if a cop sees you?"
His older brother's face fell, then he said, "Shut up, bitch."
"Jerk."

--

The car didn't seem to be particularly safety-minded. Sam went white when it decided that it would be quite fun to drift around several corners at a ludicrously high speed. Dean just raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't remember teaching her that."
After that comment, the car seemed to go back to a slight sulk. "Uh, Dean?" said Sam. "I think you offended it."
"Huh?" Dean didn't understand. How do you offend a car?
"You've been referring to it as 'she' all morning. There's not really any way of telling what a car's gender is. I think you might've offended it by implying that it's female."
Dean shifted, uncomfortable and feeling just a little stupid for not knowing whether his own car was female or male. "But…cars are always 'she'. That's just how things are."
Sam shrugged. "Some of the cars have to be male, otherwise how are you supposed to keep the population going?"
That was the last straw. Dean burst out laughing, and as soon as he could talk without chuckling, he said, "Sam, cars are made. On production lines. In factories. Cars can't have kids. They're not…they don't have the capabilities for that."
Sam, grinning, said, "I dunno, Dean. If it's your car…"
Dean's look changed from amusement to disgust. "Sam, that's not even funny."
"Well, it's obviously inherited some traits from you. I wouldn't be surprised if-"
"Sam, just don't go there, okay? That's just…sick."

The Impala seemed to still be sulking as they crossed the state line into Georgia. Sam spoke up again.
"Well, if it sulks when we call it 'she', then I guess we have to just assume that the car is a 'he'."
"Why would my car be a guy though?"
Sam shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, technically cars don't have genders, so I guess this one identifies itself as male. I mean, the owners that we know of were all male, so…
"So it decided that it must be a guy too. Oh wow…this is so…freakin' awesome!" Dean whooped as the Impala finally seemed to cheer up. Back in Black blared from the speakers, and neither brother could resist a grin. What could get cooler than a car with a mind of its own?