A/N: I actually started writing this right after John's part, this time it's from Dean's point of view, you'll get one from Sams point of view next week. It takes place about a week after Sam's departure so Dean is still pretty depressed and probably will remain so for a while. This is fanfiction (as is the first chapter), all people, places and things belong to their respective owners. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.
Dean is staring at the ceiling of the Impala, his home. He runs his hands along her groves and gives a sad smile. She's a little worse for wear, but then again so is he. Their quite a pair if he does say so himself, they've got character. They've been all over the place, taken for granted, and not quite loved the way they deserved. But that's okay, he's gonna love her right... the way his dad should have... the way Sammy should have. She's his baby, the one constant in his life, "do you stay because you love me, or do you simply have no place better to go?"
He laughs, but it's not bitter just sad. His dad dropped him off at some motel with a promise to be back soon, there's no explanation to where he's going but Dean knows its his fault. He couldn't just talk to his dad when he needed him to, but here he was talking to a car. Words just seemed pointless though, there were none that would make them stay and who was he without them.
He'd known, he hadn't said anything, but he had known the whole time. He'd felt Sammy- Sam slipping, and he'd let him go. He'd been so proud and so miserable... he was selfish. A small part of him had been hoping that Sam would choose him, that knowing he could have a normal life if he wanted was enough. Dean had hoped that Sam had just wanted a challenge, but Sam had given him a big FU. It wasn't good enough, he wasn't good enough, so he let Sam go.
If he'd have fought Sam would have wanted both, his brother and a normal life. Dean didn't have enough to give, there wasn't enough of him and he was afraid if he fought he'd just disappear all together. He was selfish... He couldn't give Sam what Sam wanted. Couldn't make that final cut, make it easier for Sam to leave, provide Sam with the ammo to destroy him... to point out all the ways he'd never been- never could be good enough for Sam. But damn it he had tried. He had tried to be a mother and father and brother all in one... and now he was no one.
Dean didn't make friends, Sam thought that Dean just thought he was too cool for it or something. The truth was Dean didn't want to. He wasn't as strong as Sam like that, he couldn't bring himself to care just to know that they'd be ripped away. He should have tried harder he thinks, maybe then he'd be someone. But he's no one. He takes in a shaky breath and continues to relearn the Impala, to find all the treasures she had to offer him.
She had a purpose. She was a home, and transportation, and storage, and memory holder all in one. He fingered an army man stuck in the door, he felt stupid. People go off to college, that didn't mean that he was justified a personal pity party. He'd do better, he'd be enough for his dad.
Seems John was picking up his new truck earlier, "so there's a job a state over I'm going to go check out."
"Great," Dean spoke up immediately trying to force out his usual cocky vibrato, "I'll come with."
But then he catches the look on his fathers face, "I think I'd be best if you stayed here and worked on the car... or something." I don't need you. You're not good enough for me either.
It hurt, but Dean tried to hide it, "cool." He didn't do good enough, didn't say the right thing. Didn't try hard enough. He wasn't smart enough or a good enough hunter, he wasn't anything. And he was alone again without purpose or direction.
He wasn't like the Impala at all, he wasn't classic, or brilliant, or useful. He was a broken compass, worse than a broken knick nack. Knick nacks were only meant to look good, but he once had a purpose... even if he had been a cheap knockoff... not nearly good enough. But he'd finally been discarded like a piece of junk, no one had even bothered to keep the pieces for their sentimental value, after all he was nothing special... nothing worth remembering.
