AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't forget about this, I promise! I had a load of final papers to write for school, and don't even get me started on the awful writer's block! Literally took me two months to get this chapter the way I wanted it to go!
Now that I'm over that obstacle... carry on! Thanks for sticking with me!
CHAPTER TEN
It was always you, Dean. Knew it right from the moment you woke me up that first time.
"No good conversation ever starts with that, Baby." I almost fell face-first off the edge of the bed as I plunked my head into my hands and rubbed vigorously. To say I was going a little bit stir-crazy was a bit of an understatement. I was about to lose it, man. My hands twitched with the urge to do something.
"If you touch those stitches one more time, I'm duct taping your arms together." Sam didn't even look up. His face was pretty much buried in his computer, leaning with his back against the armrest, legs kicked up on the couch, almost collapsed into himself with his shoulders hunched up like that. Honestly, I had no idea that I was even touching my damaged head, and I took my hand away with a slightly confused expression and stared at the flakes of dried blood crusted under my nails. Huh. Guess I had been picking at it.
I just knew, the Impala went on in her strange little corner of my brain. It couldn't have been anybody else. Not ever.
"What are you on about?" With a grunt, I shoved off the bed and got shakily to my feet. Sam twisted around, probably thinking he could catch me if I started to fall so I wouldn't end up on my ass, but to jump to my aid would mean dumping his laptop and Dad's journal to the floor, neither of which were things he wanted to do.
Wait. Dad's journal?
The worn leather notebook lay open, corners drooping off the edge of Sam's keyboard. Thought he could fool me into thinking he was on his laptop, eh? I peered over his shoulder. "What're you looking for, Sammy?"
He startled and slapped a hand over the page he was skimming. "Skinwalker," he said quickly. Too quickly. "Gotta make sure we're ready to put him down for good."
"Bullshit! You still wanna kill my damn car!" I lunged at the edge of Dad's book, aiming to yank it off the keyboard and snatch it away from my idiot brother, but either I wasn't thinking as fast as I thought I was or Sam was real good at predicting me because he easily shouldered my outstretched arm outta the way. My equilibrium was already jacked up, but the blow put me over the edge. My shins banged against the coffee table and I would've ended up face-first on top of it if Sam hadn't hauled back on my wrist. Angrily, I shook off his grip and tried to remember why I'd gotten up off the bed in the first place.
Sit, Baby commanded. I did.
"Hey!" Sam grunted and thrashed his legs out from under me.
Not on your brother, dumbass!
"Sorry." (I wasn't.)
"What the hell was that for?"
"You're being a dick!"
"I'm not being – forget it. Dean, just go to bed!"
"No." I folded my arms. "Second I'm out, you go back to trying to kill Baby. I'm not letting you do that."
I can take care of myself, driver.
"Not the point." Too much input! Starting to get overwhelmed again. I grimaced and rubbed at my temples.
Sam watched me over the top of his computer, eyes sharp with concern. "Do you need something?"
"No," I said firmly, but he was unfolding himself from the couch anyway. The computer and Dad's journal were carefully placed on the coffee table and then he was on the ground searching through our bag of medical supplies.
"I'm sorry, Dean," he told me, and I knew he meant it. "I know you think I'm being paranoid, but we can't afford to not be paranoid. You of all people should understand that there's no such thing as being too careful when it comes to crap like this!"
If my mission were to kill you, the Impala said simply, you'd both be crushed corpses in a ditch by now, don't you think?
I wasn't sure whether to be comforted or disturbed by her words, but my head hurt too damn much to think on it too hard.
Don't worry. My mission is quite the opposite, she went on. I was sent to protect you.
"Sent? Sent by who?" I frowned, scratched at my unshaven cheek for a second. Sam's spine was facing me again, but I saw the back of his head shift in interest.
Never really thought about it. Some higher power, I guess, but that's all I got. All I know is that I woke up because you needed me to.
I gave a humph in my throat and turned her words over in my brain. "You woke up? What does that mean?"
Sam flicked an ear towards me. I pretended he wasn't there.
One day, you turned the key and BAM. Just like that, man, I woke up. I mean, I was aware before that, like I knew what was going on, but I couldn't… I couldn't do anything about it, you know? And then after that, I was able to act on my own, do what I want, but I always had one mission: keep you safe.
"Here." Sam was beside me, shoving a couple of pills into my palm. "Take these."
For all I knew, he could be poisoning me, but I was getting real sick of the pounding headache and the sensitivity to every light, shadow, sound. I tossed them back and swallowed them dry, then sat back and waited for them to take effect. Sam took his place on the couch beside me again, watching me carefully as he dragged his laptop back across his thighs, Dad's notebook balanced atop it.
You probably don't remember it, or maybe you do. The first time you drove all by yourself. That's when I woke up.
I knew Sam was still eavesdropping on my half of the conversation, but he'd buried himself back in the yellowing pages of Dad's book, so I acted like he wasn't sitting there. "I do," I rasped. "I actually do. I had to have been, what, nine years old?"
Give or take.
"I remember it because Dad gave me a nice ass-whooping when he finally tracked me down." I took one fist in the other and rubbed a hand across my knuckles. "Told me never to take you out again without his explicit permission. But he didn't know… he didn't know I ran off with you to save Sammy." Was I even making sense? I hoped so, but I sensed that the words I had in my head were different from the words I was actually able to sound out. Can't say I really cared. I was just starting to feel pretty good.
Painkillers. Damn, those things work fast sometimes.
Sam looked up over the top of his laptop and tilted his head.
You got it. It was you Winchesters against a pack of – hell, I think it was vamps. Something like that, anyway. Your daddy left you with me. Told you to stay put, lie low, keep the doors locked, and don't touch anything while he went and sliced 'em. Problem was, a few came after you and Sammy, and what did you do?
I racked my brain. "I ran."
Yeah. John kept a spare key in my air box under the hood. You got your hands on it just as the vamps were on us. You could barely get it into the ignition, you were shaking so bad.
"I… I gouged up the dashboard," I said as the gaps in the story started to slowly fill in, because damn it, I remembered. "Caught hell from Dad for that one."
And for taking his car out without permission, Baby responded. But he didn't know that you technically didn't drive. That was all me, man. See, the thing is, when you got the key into the ignition and told Sammy to lie low in the backseat, you got on the gas pedal but failed to put the shifter into Reverse, and that vamp was coming fast, so I just… I don't know. It was like I knew exactly what I had to do. I had to keep you safe, so I dropped the shifter down to help you.
"That was it?" The memory played back like I was watching found footage on a phone or something: Me, desperately jamming my foot up against the accelerator, wondering why the engine got real loud but the big Impala didn't move anywhere, and then it suddenly slammed into Reverse and we went careening backwards through the forest…
Well, you certainly couldn't drive, she replied, and it was like something clicked for me. Get you out of danger. That was my only thought and my only mission. It wouldn't be until later, much later, that I figured out that I had suddenly turned sentient in that particular moment. Don't know why. Took a while to set in, I guess.
"So… you helped us run?"
That's right. Just high-tailed it the hell outta that vamp's nest. Poor thing – you actually thought you were in control! Just about shit your pants! She cackled to herself, but then turned serious. I didn't know how to tell you, man. Not without freaking you out. So I waited.
For what? I wondered.
Dunno. The 'right moment', I guess. To be honest, I'm not sure what the hell that means. She broke off, and I couldn't really think of anything to say to her, so I kept quiet. In her silence, I heard the distinct clipping of pages against the air. Seriously, Sam was losing his stealth – I knew exactly what he was up to, and I was just winding up to rail on him about looking through Dad's journal again, but my car beat me to it. Sorta.
Tell Sammy he ain't gonna find anything about me in that book of his, she said flatly, like she was bored. There were a handful of entries at one time, but they're all gone now.
On cue, I rolled my head to the other side of the pillow and glanced at my brother. He was no longer concerned with keeping up his façade and had that damn book under a lamp with the spine all spread out underneath the light, inspecting it closely, plucking at something with a thumb and forefinger.
Torn pages.
I'd noticed them before, and thought them strange, but never really gave it much more attention than that. There were ink blots on the opposing pages, so I figured he'd busted a pen open or some shit like that while trying to write and had ripped the offending notes out to keep the stain from setting into the rest of the book.
He wrote about me, said Baby as I wrenched myself up to get a better look. After he railed on you for running off with me and Sammy, he was inspecting me for new damage, and something told me it was time to let him know what I was, so I just started talking to him. You think Sam flipped his shit when he found out about me? Shoulda seen John…
I frowned.
He tried everything in the damn book. Exorcisms, hexes, spells, potions… you name it. When he figured out none of that was gonna kill me, he began his quest to learn more. Lo and behold, we actually became friends. Sorta. I mean, we didn't hate each other, but… he never really got used to me, ya know?
"Where did his notes go?" I asked. Sam thought I was talking to him. He smoothed a hand over the folded-open binding, running his fingers over the feathered edges of the torn pages, and with a frown and a shrug he said, "Beats me."
He tore them out, my car responded. Think he meant to give them to you along with my keys, but… I don't know what happened. Maybe he decided against it.
I waited a heartbeat for more, but apparently she didn't have any, so I rolled a hand and fought the iron weight in the back of my skull and asked, "Why wouldn't he want me to know?"
First off, he never really figured me out, Baby drawled. He tried. He did all this research. All these experiments. I told you, I didn't react to any of it. His theory was I was a spirit attached to a car for some reason but he could never determine if that were true or not. She paused, like she was thinking, and then she said, He did get one thing right. He noted that I was always at my strongest when you were around.
"Dean? You okay? You're staring off into space," my brother said. I waved him off. At least, I thought I did, but all I managed was a flick of my shoulder. My headache was subsiding and my consciousness was becoming blissfully foggy, thanks to the painkillers. Had to be strong stuff. Most drugs didn't work this quickly or this well on me anymore. Built-up immunity and all. (I'll bet I've been on every med in the book at least once over the course of my life.)
Dean, why do you think John gave his precious Impala to you? Baby was oblivious to my fading awareness, because she kept right on going with a low laugh to herself. I could almost hear her smiling, He didn't know what I was, he didn't know how I got here, he didn't know where the hell I came from, but he did know this: you needed me as much as I needed you.