Chapter 4

Dean

The life of a Winchester vehicle was a difficult one, to say the least. I stared at the Tank and shook my head, visually pulling apart the frame and seeing the damage underneath. It wasn't a pretty picture. Tilting my head to pop my neck, I glanced around the shop to see the guys all milling about, doing what they were getting paid to do. Stu was under an Oldsmobile Cutlass 442 that he was preparing for a big block and new shocks and Tony was in the paint stall, taping off an El Camino that looked a lot like Sammy's. The new guy, Mike, had proven a job well done, re-chroming a Bonneville. My tech guys were all busy as well; replacing fan belts and spark plugs…there was no one to boss around so I figured it was finally my turn to get dirty again.

Shrugging out of my flannel, I tossed it onto the toolbox at the end of my bay and smiled. "Hey, old girl," I greeted, feeling the creases of metal where the shifter's victim had plowed into my wife. "Thanks for taking care of Gracie."

The Tank didn't reply, of course, but I could still feel the connection I had to it. It was the truck that cared for and protected my family when I wasn't around to do so. She had done a really good job, too.

Most of the damage was Grace's driver's side door and the front-end quarter panel. I would have to take off both the door and the hood and then replace the tires so they all matched, then the radiator, the battery connector, and most of the spark plugs. The carburetor was off kilter slightly, so I would have to check the mounts, but the rest of the engine seemed intact, but only time would tell.

I had managed to get the door off its hinges and take off the hood before my phone rang the first time. I glanced at the clock and sighed. It had only been two and a half hours, but it was already one thirty five in the afternoon. Time was ticking away. I pulled myself off the floor and wiped my hands on my jeans, reaching for my phone.

"Hey, Sammy," I answered, seeing Serra's name come up on the screen on my phone.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked; a smile in his voice.

"Oh, I'm way ahead of you, brother. It's already been a day and a half."

Sam adjusted in his chair. I could hear the squeak through the speaker of the phone. "Why?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Some asshole ran the red and blindsided Grace when she was on her way home from dropping off the kids," I explained, leaning against my toolbox.

"Oh my God, is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," I answered, shrugging, "but the Tank got hit pretty hard. And the guy that hit her? Pretty sure he got taken out by a shifter first."

There was a long pause from Sam as he processed the information. "A shifter," he repeated. "A shape shifter?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed. "Crazy, right?"

Sam was silent for a second or two more and he took a deep breath and sighed. "Does Serra know there was a shifter within fifty miles of her?"

"She does now," I replied, taking a drink of my old, cold coffee. Making a face, I tossed it into the trashcan and glanced at the bay to my right. Serra's truck was sitting on the lift, stripped down to the frame. It had taken me weeks to track down the new panels for her truck and until I had all the pieces, I wouldn't be able to reassemble. The sheet metal of the old body of her truck had taken a beating not too long ago and the bullet holes that had been scattered across it were too many to fix. It was another Winchester vehicle that I was grateful for. It had, again, saved the lives of two of the most important women in my life. I refocused my attention on Sam and chuckled. "She probably wants to go hunting, huh?"

"I can guarantee it," Sammy agreed. "You're not going to try and track down any more, are you? If you do, I won't be able to talk her down."

I was shaking my head. "No, Sammy," I said quietly. "After what I did…" I sighed heavily, closing my eyes. "I wouldn't do that to Grace. I can't leave her again."

Sam was quiet as he waited for me to work through the guilt I had constantly bubbling at the surface. After a few moments, he offered, "It wasn't your fault, Dean."

"Yeah, everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it's true," he said quietly. "Grace knows that more than anyone."

I closed my eyes and shook him off. "That's not going to stop me from trying to earn my way back." I decided a change of subjects was necessary, so I glanced towards Serra's truck again. "Got the tailgate yesterday," I said, forcing my tone to improve. "I'm just missing the hood and passenger door now."

"Oh, to Serra's truck?" Sammy asked.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's been a bitch to track all the pieces down, rust free. I wish I coulda talked her into just getting the pre-made rebuild kits. I'm worried about finding the hood. I got a hold of a guy in Cincinnati, but I think he's got a '72, not a '71. The grill might be slightly different."

"Will she even notice?"

Closing my eyes and shaking my head, I said, "Of course she'll notice. Are we even talking about the same woman?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed. He paused and took a breath, asking, "So are we going hunting?"

I clicked my tongue and shook my head. "What did I just tell you?" I shot back. "I'm not leaving Grace with four kids by herself."

"Yeah," Sam said. "You keep saying that."