Impala (Dean/Sam; ficlet)
Impala
How sick it was to be jealous of a car? Sam loved the Impala. He really did. It was home, it was filled with memories, but damn…sometimes he was jealous of it. No one knew that, of course. Besides, it wasn’t like there were so many people who would understand…he, himself, had troubles understanding.
The Impala smelled like Dean. She had Dean’s attention, his hands everywhere on her. He was jealous of how Dean took care of her, of how happy she made him.
He thought he was good at hiding it, he really did.
He was wrong.
Bobby sat next to him, in the yard of his house, and Sam could feel the other hunter’s eyes on him. He didn’t turn, though, not until he heard Bobby’s chuckle.
“what?” He snapped. And God, could he sound more of a jealous bitch sometimes?
Bobby took a long gulp from hi beer and said, “Did I ever tell you I built this house from scratch? I did it for my wife. It was our house, our place…”
There wasn’t hurt in Bobby’s voice, more like sadness, regret…mingled with something bittersweet: probably the love he still felt for his wife…or for the life he used to have.
“Used to take care of this place…I wanted it to be perfect for her. Much like …” Bobby interrupted himself, and cast a glance at Dean, who was working on the Impala, a focused look in his eyes and a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Bobby…” Sam started, but the older man interrupted him saying, “I’d have burned it to the ground to save her…and Dean? He didn’t touch the damn thing when he thought you were dead.”
“What are you trying to say, Bobby?” He asked in a low voice, feeling suddenly very stupid…and afraid and exhilarated.
Bobby shrugged, “I stopped taking care of the house when my wife died…there was no point. It wasn’t home any more”
Bobby’s cellphone rung, and the man got up, leaving Sam alone, as he kept looking at Dean, trying to fix the car.
It was home…and he bet Bobby’s wife had loved it as much as he loved the Impala. And maybe she had been jealous of the time Bobby spent fixing it. He got up, taking another beer from the fridge and got close to Dean.
“Need a hand?” He asked, handing Dean the beer, realizing in that moment the magnitude of Bobby’s words…and the parallelism. He hadn’t seemed shocked or surprised. They were all past the poin of caring at that point.
They were what they were…Dean and he: family, lovers, brothers, friends and everything in between…and the Impala was theirs: their house, their beacon, part of them.
Dean accepted the beer and looked at him, “Sure thing, Sammy…” he said, “just be careful…”
“Or you’ll end me. I know, I know” Sam replied smiling.
So, maybe he was jealous of a car…it wouldn’t be the craziest thing in his life….not as crazy as being head over heels in love with a stubborn man, who happened to be his brother, with whom he fought monsters, angels and devils.
It was their life…and the Impala was part of it.
How sick it was to be jealous of a car? Sam loved the Impala. He really did. It was home, it was filled with memories, but damn…sometimes he was jealous of it. No one knew that, of course. Besides, it wasn’t like there were so many people who would understand…he, himself, had troubles understanding.
The Impala smelled like Dean. She had Dean’s attention, his hands everywhere on her. He was jealous of how Dean took care of her, of how happy she made him.
He thought he was good at hiding it, he really did.
He was wrong.
Bobby sat next to him, in the yard of his house, and Sam could feel the other hunter’s eyes on him. He didn’t turn, though, not until he heard Bobby’s chuckle.
“what?” He snapped. And God, could he sound more of a jealous bitch sometimes?
Bobby took a long gulp from hi beer and said, “Did I ever tell you I built this house from scratch? I did it for my wife. It was our house, our place…”
There wasn’t hurt in Bobby’s voice, more like sadness, regret…mingled with something bittersweet: probably the love he still felt for his wife…or for the life he used to have.
“Used to take care of this place…I wanted it to be perfect for her. Much like …” Bobby interrupted himself, and cast a glance at Dean, who was working on the Impala, a focused look in his eyes and a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Bobby…” Sam started, but the older man interrupted him saying, “I’d have burned it to the ground to save her…and Dean? He didn’t touch the damn thing when he thought you were dead.”
“What are you trying to say, Bobby?” He asked in a low voice, feeling suddenly very stupid…and afraid and exhilarated.
Bobby shrugged, “I stopped taking care of the house when my wife died…there was no point. It wasn’t home any more”
Bobby’s cellphone rung, and the man got up, leaving Sam alone, as he kept looking at Dean, trying to fix the car.
It was home…and he bet Bobby’s wife had loved it as much as he loved the Impala. And maybe she had been jealous of the time Bobby spent fixing it. He got up, taking another beer from the fridge and got close to Dean.
“Need a hand?” He asked, handing Dean the beer, realizing in that moment the magnitude of Bobby’s words…and the parallelism. He hadn’t seemed shocked or surprised. They were all past the poin of caring at that point.
They were what they were…Dean and he: family, lovers, brothers, friends and everything in between…and the Impala was theirs: their house, their beacon, part of them.
Dean accepted the beer and looked at him, “Sure thing, Sammy…” he said, “just be careful…”
“Or you’ll end me. I know, I know” Sam replied smiling.
So, maybe he was jealous of a car…it wouldn’t be the craziest thing in his life….not as crazy as being head over heels in love with a stubborn man, who happened to be his brother, with whom he fought monsters, angels and devils.
It was their life…and the Impala was part of it.