Cars and Demons

by GreekHeroine

Murders in a small town, sure why not! The boys head to Ventura, Ca, a hub for steet racing and mysterious murders apparently. What happens when the local car girl takes our boys into the world of cars and family ties that even monsters can't break? What happens when she knows more about the murder then she's letting on? Will the boys survive race night? Will the drivers survive?

3. Cruising

Oh Baby

Dean smiled as he turned the key. The 67 Impala SS groaned and roared to life. The rumble setting itself into it's typical rhythm. He loved Ventura, Southern California was beautiful and perfect for cruising.

He eyed the motel where Sam was still asleep. He knew he shouldn't leave him. Not with the reappearance of that bastard thing that had killed their mother, but he had to cruise. He needed it.

He folded his fingers over the curve of the wheel and pulled it to the right. The Impala lurched satisfyingly onto the street and he propped one arm on the window. All the windows were down here. California was a rare place where he could have his windows down all the time. There was no wind, no cold, it was sunny and beautiful all the time.

He nodded to more bikini and shorts combo-ed girls and they giggled and smiled at him. He turned around the corner, cruising the boulevard. It was early and not a lot of cars. This area of Ventura was all old school and small town vibes. Diners and pawn shops. Mom and Pop places, unique, special. He liked the vibe and feel of the town.

He took a road, out towards the fields and breathed contently. There was nothing like cruising. The weight of his Baby bearing down on the tires, the crunch of gravel underneath. The power that pushed her forward was immense. All 350 horses corralled inside his engine that were only held back by the power of his foot. He pressed harder on the pedal, hearing that growling roar of the engine rev up and speed faster. He laughed in exuberance, the front of his Baby reached up a fraction of an inch as he barreled down the highway.

Dean glanced across the field, reminded of his times with her.

The Baby had been apart of the family even before the incident. She had sat in the driveway, gleaming in the Kansas sun every day. His dad had driven it around with Dean buckled next to him. He couldn't remember another car before it.

Of course after Mom had died, the Impala became more then a car. It was home, safe and his sanctuary. Whenever Dad wasn't hunting or learning about demons, monsters and spirits he was fixing up the Baby. Before he even knew about the monsters, Dean knew the Baby. When he was 5, he memorized the sizes of screwdrivers, nuts and bolts. By the time he was 9, he knew how to change the tires and fluids. He loved the smell of changing oils and filling up antifreeze. It was another sign of home and security.

When he turned 12, he drove the Impala himself after his dad was passed out fighting a banshee. He remembered the rush of fear and adrenaline as he shifted the stick from park to drive. He could still imagine stretching his feet to reach the gas as he revved that engine for the first time.

The Baby had squealed in protest as Dean shifted frantically into the right gears. She didn't like Dean messing with her gears and her wheel crazily. After his dad had been fixed up by Bobby, his dad and him went out the Impala and he had been shown how to drive her right, how to shift and know the sign of her in distress.

Dean relaxed against the leather, his eyes glancing over the interior. He had kept her in prime condition. Many people asked him about selling, about why he didn't customize and modernize her. He always shook his head. The Baby was perfect, the Legos that rattled in the vents, the army man that was crammed into the ash tray behind him, even his and Sam's initials carved into the back board under the speakers. Those were imperfections to some, but to him it was all charm.

He knew how people saw the Impala. Big, dangerous, sharp, it was like him, dragged through the muddy trenches of an unseen war and still shining bright. The curves of it's lights and the sharpened chromed accents. The glossy finish that he painstakingly polished and waxed once a week was still beautiful. The engine underneath was just as clean as the outside, all chromed out and the fluids topped off. He kept careful tabs on oil and fluids methodically, his toolbox stacked with a Matco tool set. He had a box of 10W40 oil and Royal Purple coolant. It was routine of him to keep it stocked, just as holy water and a blade sharpener.

Dean smiled as he turned onto another road and drove up, overlooking the beach. He kept the key turned though, enjoying the rumble of his Baby, content in her idle.

"Nice car," A voice spoke, jolting him out his reverie. He looked up and saw a young brunette leaning over to his window.