Many have done this sort of thing before me. Oh well. This Fic is written from the perspective of the beloved '67 Impala. It only utilizes Kripke's original 5 season arc, and assumes that Dean would have stayed with Lisa and Ben. More than overviewing the plots from the car's view, it personifies the thematic aspects of the show that have long intrigued me. It is also… possibly… my subtle way of demonstrating why the actual end of the show was less than perfect in my opinion. I think what is true at the end of this arc is still basically true at the end of the show. Please leave reviews, even comments of hatred are accepted.
I've known Dean Winchester since before he was born. I met John first.
When that tall dark-haired man brought me home and introduced me to his girlfriend, I knew instantly we were going to get along great. They smiled and laughed when we went places. And they had faith in each other's comfort when they were hurting. They took me on their most important days, included me in their joy and their pain, in their fights and hours of love. I got to see them wholly. These were two people who were trying hard. Trying hard to be happy. Trying hard to remember and forget.
It took some years, but I eventually spotted her in a white dress at a tall important looking building. John had driven me there alone. She had left very early that morning. I think they'd debated on whether to include me that day, but when John walked out of the house in a black suit and with neat hair, he saw me and couldn't leave me behind. I was part of them. I was the part of the past that would take them forward.
Just a few years after that, Mary's belly started to swell. Whenever I saw her, she was smiling and laying a soft hand across her torso. They'd driven me quite a long way to acquire a crib from a family member. Mary wanted to help lift it, but John insisted, "I can do it, honey. You shouldn't be lifting heavy things." She tried to contain her laughter when John dropped the many wooden pieces across the driveway. Even while she laughed at him, he kissed her and rubbed his hand across her belly. He smiled down at the growing bump. And there it was, that happiness that they had tried so hard for. It was waiting for them. It was the child.
Of course, that kind of happiness isn't contained, and it eventually bore two children. It seemed that was it. All that trying had paid off. Perhaps things were never quite perfect, I still housed their fights sometimes, but they were finally happy.
It was not to be.
One night the house that I most oft guarded went up in orange flame. The two little ones came out first, Dean carrying tiny Sam. But they were still close to the flames. John ran out and grabbed them both and kept running until he was across the street, further from the house than I was. I expected to see Mary run out a moment later.
Instead, I saw many other colors that night. Blue and red flashed in rhythm while bright white beams searched every surrounding spot. John leaned against me, holding tiny Sam. Dean sat on my hood, squashed in as close as possible to his father.
Eventually, by the time the pink light of the sun arrived, John put his children in the backseat and climbed into the driver's spot. I tried to warn him. I whispered, John, you can't leave, we're missing someone. We can't leave without Mary. He didn't hear me. I had no power to stop him.
John didn't look at me the same way after that night. Now, when he looked at me he saw something that had once been. I was to be the vehicle that persistently chased him as the past. I haunted him while he hunted what haunts. I was the symbol of his reasons for despair.
But that wouldn't always be true. Not for everyone.
All while the two boys were small, John made me their home. He carted them from town to town, parking me outside of motels barely fit for humans, let alone children. They played together in the backseat for hours on end, at first unaware. They were too young and small to understand. Not even John, though hardened, could bring himself to explain. Not at first.
But eventually things changed, eventually they grew.
I suppose John thought time would tell him, would decide for him. So when a still small Dean finally asked "Why?" John answered without hesitation. He told his son they couldn't give up, that they had to keep fighting for Mary. And what else did he say?
"Look out for Sammy. Protect your brother."
And that's exactly what Dean did. That happy child was slowly and steadily weighed down by the responsibilities his father laid on him. He grew up learning to hunt and cheat and fight. He put his little brother ahead of everything. Put him ahead of his own happiness, yet he found happiness that way. It didn't take long for it to become obvious that he was very strong and smart, probably more so than would ultimately be good for him. But he quickly figured out what his life was to be. He stopped fighting it.
And he stopped hurting when he stopped hoping.
Little Sam was different. Where Dean had accepted and even learned to enjoy, Sam resisted. He too learned from John, everything that Dean learned. But he fought against John. He refused to give up on the chance to "be normal." Whatever that meant. I think what he wanted was something like what John and Mary wanted all those years ago. But he wanted it more selfishly than they had. Either way, this idea was so powerful and real to him that it drove the family apart. Each time he and John screamed at each other, I know Dean's heart cracked a little bit more. When little… I suppose that isn't true anymore, he had grown taller than both Dean and John; when Sam left, he hesitated at the sight of me. I whispered, this is home, let it be home. Don't leave us.
He didn't hear me, they never do.
After that night I saw less and less of John, too. I lived my life with Dean. We stayed on the road, doing what we'd always done. Town to town, hunt to hunt. Dean had grown up quite a bit. In some ways, at least. He never seemed to leave that night behind. He looked sideways at the empty half of the front seat, wishing that wishes were enough to bring his brother back. But usually, it was too subtle to notice, it was hidden in layers of swagger and stubbornness. He fought monsters, he hustled pool, he had his share of women, or more than. No one who looked at him saw he was any more than that. At times I barely remembered. I watched him laugh in bars, sometimes even with other friends or hunters. I saw him take pride in the hunting he did and the people he saved. He was free. I wish he'd seen it that way.
Not four years went by and the littlest one, fine, Sam was back. He was different than he used to be. Less sure of himself, less hopeful. He was beginning to understand that what he wanted just wasn't to be. He had been given a different job to do. He grew more okay with that over the next few years. In those early days of his and Dean's reunion, he clung to his small years of freedom. But as the fight wore on, he hardened the way John once had. His dreams turned away from his own life and towards destruction. He was desperate. The notion of rising above his place in life was gone. Now he only needed to rise above his own shame. I think when he looked at me he felt the weight of guilt. I was the original mission, and therefore everything he'd betrayed.
I could see it all on the day it happened. Both brothers were there, and some other familiar people. And I felt the earth shake. They'd fought. Well, I've seen them fight before. This was different. Sam didn't seem like himself. He was more powerful, less controlled. There was fire, and then blood, and then Sam vanished below my sightline.
When only one brother got in the front seat, only Dean, I was confused. I whispered, Dean, you can't leave, we're missing someone. We can't leave without Sam. I wasn't going to let him forget his little brother.
So when he tried to leave, I tried to stop him. When I'd first joined the family, I didn't have much say or sway. As the years wore on, I began to be able to show them when it was wrong to leave. Usually, they pushed past, they got me to go where they wanted. But I tried. I growled at him, begging him not to leave.
I've been with them since before they were born. I've watched them hurt and laugh and fight and stay and leave. I watched them grow up. In all that, they called me many things. Dean, especially, has given me so many names. And I knew they knew I cared. They never gave up on me when I was tired or hurt. They called me home.
But never... never has Dean spoken back toward me. Never has he responded in words like these. Had he heard me? Maybe. But more likely he said to me what he would say to family. I was simply the last one left.
"I know girl. I know... But he's gone."
Still, I wouldn't let him leave. No, you can't leave without him. You can't be separated again. But this time I knew he didn't hear me.
We quickly reverted to our old relationship. "Come on!"
Those familiar words in the face of everything which was to be different convinced me. After all, we'd never let each other down before. I knew things would never really be the same. After that day, Dean lived a new life. He had a new family. He had a home other than me. But he kept me parked in the driveway, and still took me everywhere he needed to go. And I guarded this house, just like I'd done so many years ago. I was there for Dean and Lisa's fights and joys. Through it all, our trust never faltered.
And so I was what I'd ever been. Dean never let go of me. I think when he looks at me now he sees permission. With me, he can keep the past close enough to him. He can move on without abandoning what once was. He needed to hang on to something past in order to let himself be okay with the future. I was enough. I was him, and I was Sam, and somewhere deep down I may have still been John.
Now when I look at him I see John. Not the way John was in those later years. The way he was when we'd first met. Trying hard. Trying hard to be happy. Trying hard to remember and forget.
Dean never removed my main contents. The swords and guns, even Sam's tattered bag, it all stayed with me. At first, he would open and see almost daily. He'd run his hand over each weapon and tool. He'd take out Sam's things and hold them, trying to retain some part of Sam that was stored in those items. But it didn't stay like that forever. By the time he taught the child, Ben, to drive, he rarely touched the items at all. Once in a while maybe-we'd even go out on a hunt if a friend was really desperate-but the compartment that housed the past was typically sealed under the weight of a standard gym bag. A school project. A cake and flowers for Lisa. A bicycle.
The future.
I wish John could see me now. I wish he could know that I was fulfilling the purpose he'd once so genuinely intended. Others say full circle, but I'd liken it more to a line. A line like a lifetime that, yes, had wavered, but was now back on track. All John's hopes were coming to pass. Not for him, but for his son. For Dean.
I don't think Dean really realizes it. He thinks that both he and Sam were cheated. After all, they each got what the other wanted and it wasn't fair. But I think it's fitting somehow. Dean is the one who remembers. Maybe not many things, but enough. He remembers Mary and the dreams and pain of that family. It lets this life be real to him. Sam would never have appreciated this the same way. He would have always stood a little on the outside, never accepting normal because it had always been a stranger to him. Besides, they'd overcome something greater. Dean says that Sam saved the world. I believe that. And Dean… it was his turn now. Despite all he said and thought and wanted, it was time that Dean belong to himself.
I've known Dean Winchester since before he was born. I know he doesn't understand the power of things the way they are. He doesn't see all of this. But I do.