SPN: "The Sound of Goodbye"
Category: Supernatural, Impalaverse
Title: The Sound of Goodbye (FFN / AO3)
Word Count: 2500
Rating: G
Summary: Impalaverse, during 7.06. This absolutely can't turn out like the last time they left her.
The Impalaverse is done, folks. I'm not saying definitively that there will never be a season 8 or 9 story, but I doubt one will pop up at this point.
Frank's orders have left them spinning, so much that Dean doesn't even think about a certain practicality until they're standing outside and Sam quietly asks, "Which one of us is going to tell her?"
To Frank, it's a matter of parking the car somewhere and abandoning it. Frank thinks they're just stupid and sentimental.
Nobody ever understands.
The last time they tried to store the Impala, she followed them and beat up the new car.
Dean can feel the headache starting already, a needle of pain trying to drill into his skull, right between his eyebrows. "She's my car," he says finally, "I'll do it."
He tries not to hate Sam for that transparent look of sheer relief. Not that he really blames Sam. He and the car haven't gotten along since Sam came back from Hell. Something happened between them. Sam's not as easy in the car any more, and she's not as protective of him as she used to be. The last time she rolled over Sam's foot, she broke two bones, which never happened before, in all the thousands of times she'd pulled that little prank.
The job sucks everything away eventually.
***
They stop to arrange for new transportation and unload the weapons. Sam's antsy, wanting to get out there and stop the fuckers using their faces right this minute, but Dean's not about to put his baby into long-term storage without the proper prep. Sure, this could go away as soon as they get the impersonators, but Dean quit having any faith in the Winchester luck somewhere around the second near-death experience (which, he feels it necessary to point out, even in the sanctuary of his own head, is not the same as his second actual death). Better safe than sorry.
And this time, he'll make sure she gets the proper prep and that she can't follow them. Not without damaging herself.
There's a few acres that used to belong to the Harvelles. Technically, they still do, since Ellen and Jo aren't officially dead-there wasn't enough left for the authorities to identify. Bobby's been paying the taxes on it since they died. He could probably rig up a transfer of the deed (at this point, Dean's pretty sure that Bobby could transfer ownership of the White House if he really put his mind to it) but having it listed under Ellen's name is just another layer of safety and misdirection. At some point during Dean's year out, Bobby turned an old barn into a decently disguised garage. Bobby's never owned a vehicle worth storing, but other hunters do, treasured bits of their past they don't want to entrust to life on the road.
Bobby won't say whether or not he did that just in case the Impala had to be stored, just in case Dean turned up dead instead of tucked away in the suburbs, and Dean can't make himself ask.
He lets her back herself in, lets her judge how close to the wall she wants to be. She does her usual precise job, leaving more than enough room for him to get around her for whatever maintenance he might have to do without blocking access to any other vehicle that might get stored here, though right now her only roommate is an old boat. He's going to miss this. Her ability to drive herself has been damned useful. Sure, it had been creepy at first, but they'd gotten used to it pretty quick. Dean hates to think how much Sam would be bitching about his drinking if they didn't have the car to take over when things get crazy.
By this point, she has to know something's up. She's not stupid. Sometimes Dean thinks she's the smartest one of them. It's sure as hell not him, or he would've found a way to make somebody else do this. But she won't hurt him.
At least, he doesn't think she'll hurt him. She's slammed doors on Sam and run down Cas, and Bobby swears that once she shoved his wheelchair so that it rolled into the road, but she's never done anything to Dean. No more than a shove or a nudge, anyway.
He hasn't had to have this kind of conversation with her since Lisa got so freaked out. Not that he blamed her-she was seeing and hearing something, and she was too sensible to claim it was the car if it wasn't.
She's his car, but she almost never interacts with him the way she does with everybody else. He doesn't get playful-or pissed-whacks with the door the way Sam does, doesn't get annoyed little noises like Cas. He doesn't even get her in his dreams the way Lisa did. Another man would simply assume that everybody else was playing an elaborate prank.
If Dean ever doubted, seeing Cas-a damn angel-address the car with respect every time he shows up, even if only a brief "hello, Impala," would have convinced him.
He never told Lisa, but he was actually a little jealous. He knows the Impala's aware, knows what she's capable of, knows that half the stunts she pulls are on his behalf, but she's never tried to talk to him. Lisa had started having her own bad dreams about the same time, and he's always wondered if somehow the Impala was doing that, if there was some kind of communication going on that was bypassing him entirely. That was about the same time Lisa had started offhandedly mentioning things there was no way for her to know about. He'd thought maybe he'd mentioned them, in the early days when there was more booze in his system than blood.
Now he wonders if the Impala was the one telling her those things.
"We're in trouble, baby," he says quietly. "More than usual. This time- You have to stay here this time, okay? I need you to stay here."
There's a change in the air, a second before she hits him in the leg. Yeah. He didn't think this was going to be that easy. He doesn't know if horn-beeping and light flickers are going to be enough for a real conversation, though.
"It's dangerous for all of us right now. They're looking for us, really looking, and they know exactly what we drive. I can't fix this by swapping plates. Not this time. Me and Sam-if we're going to get out of this, we need every advantage we can get. And that means-" He scrubs at a speck of dust that may or may not actually be on her hood. "We have to leave you, baby. I'm sorry, but there's no other way."
The whole barn goes quiet, like she's somehow shushed every bird in the rafters. The air feels dead around him in a way it hasn't in years. Not when it was just him and her.
After a minute, the birds start up again, but the dead feeling doesn't go away, even after he turns the radio on.
He makes himself get to work. He doesn't know if she's taking it well or not, because right now, she could be any car out there-not helping, not fighting, just...there. It makes the purely physical aspect of it easier, at least, though more than once he catches himself worrying. He can't put her up on blocks or drain the engine completely, there may come a day they need a quick getaway. Most of what he's doing will just keep anybody else from running off with her; he's not sure it'll stop her from busting out of here. She'll damage herself if she does, but- Well, it wasn't healthy to beat up that beigemobile either, and that didn't stop her.
He digs the last of the working cellphones and a spare gun out of the glove compartment and adds them to the stack of things to take, turns the radio off, and he's done.
Things still don't feel right. It's like she's gone.
Maybe she has. He has no idea what it would take for a pure spirit to wriggle itself out of the shell and move on. Doesn't even know if it's possible. It might be something that can be done quietly, without the thick-headed human even noticing. Hell, it took him forever to notice that she was even in there, why would he notice her leaving?
Not that he blames her, if she's figured out how. It's for their own good-all three of them-but this is a betrayal. Nothing else.
"It'll be awhile till Sam gets here," he says finally, breaking a silence as awkward as the one after he told Sam he remembered Hell. "I'm taking a nap." That comes out sounding like he's asking permission, but hell, maybe he should be. He slides behind the wheel without even considering that he could stretch out in the back seat and be way more comfortable. He belongs behind the wheel.
The radio sputters to life with "Hey Jude," and he's not even going to ask how she managed that. Besides, it's soothing, and his body remembers when that was his lullaby, because he's asleep before the end of the song.
***
He's-nowhere. It feels vaguely sunny-the warm, peaceful kind of sunny, with no hint of a storm brewing, that he hasn't felt in years-but it's not a field or a park or anything. He can't even be definite he's outside. There's not really a here here.
Then, suddenly, there's someone else there with him-an impossible woman, as tall as he is, no figure to speak of, black as sin against the imagined sunshine, with metallic silver fingernails and a cascade of hair that he honest-to-God swears is chrome-colored. If he saw something like her in the real world, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.
Somehow, when Lisa told him she was seeing a woman, he'd envisioned someone-well-sexy. Not this. No wonder Lisa had freaked.
She looks like she's wearing a dress, but there's no seams, no hems, no nothing to mark the difference between her sleeves and her hands, her collar and her neck, and her hands and face and skirt are all the exact same pitch-black, so- Is she naked? And why the hell doesn't she have legs? Are there feet under that skirt? Or is the skirt her legs?
Are you supposed to have headaches in your dreams?
The woman just stares at him with freaky eyes like headlights, and-
Eyes like headlights.
Dean's own eyes automatically drop to where a silvery pendant hangs-or is maybe imbedded-over her heart. The Impala logo. Holy shit. This is her.
Lisa, what the hell did you do to my car?
"I was always here," she said, and if he didn't know better, he'd think her feelings were hurt. "I just...changed my shape."
"Baby?" That earns him a shy smile. "What the-"
"I'll behave," she says, "if you promise to come back."
"It may not be up to me."
The headlight eyes dim. "Do you think I don't know that? How dangerous the world is? Do you think I don't feel it every time you die? Do you think I don't mourn as much as Sammy?"
He stares at her. "You feel it?" Every time? Christ, how many times has he died in the past few years? Some days, he's not sure he's still sane after all that, and he's a human, not a car.
"Every time," she says.
He never thought about that. He just- She's a car. How can she even know what death is, let alone feel it? And to mourn- How can she not fear, after all that, the way Cas says a pure spirit can't? "I'm sorry." It's stupid, but it's all he can think to say.
The edges of here start to waver, like the dream is about to break. "Not yet," he hears her whisper.
"Baby?" He catches her hand. The fingers are slightly out of proportion, too long, too thin, the nails too narrow. She can't really make herself into a human, just something that looks vaguely like one. "What is it?"
"I can't maintain it. Not with you. With the woman, I could, but-I wasn't bonded to her." There's strain in her voice, and she jerks her hand away. "It's too much."
Bonded. Is that what they are? "Why don't you talk to me?" he asks. "You talk to everybody else, but not me."
"It's too strong." The wavering is getting worse. This is starting to feel more like a spell about to collapse than it does a dream.
"How can-"
"Too much power. It would destroy you."
"What-"
Her hands are shaking. No, more than that. Those chrome fingernails are digging into her palms. Cars don't sweat, but he thinks he may be about to see this one bleed. She's holding to this space with everything she has and it's still not stable.
Because of him? He is so not worth this, and he opens his mouth to tell her so.
"I can't hold it," she whispers, and everything shatters.
***
"I break my neck to get here, and you're napping?"
Dean forces his eyes open. Sam's yanked the car door open and is looming. His voice is sharper than usual, and his thumb is digging into his palm again, where he thinks Dean won't see it. He's not pissed off, then. Not at Dean. He just can't take it out on Lucifer. "Well, you drive like a little old lady, Sammy," Dean says, knowing that the familiarity of brotherly teasing will help Sam relax, no matter what stunts Satan is pulling over in the corner. "I didn't think you'd be here till tomorrow."
"Ha," Sam says dryly. "I hope I got the kind of tarp you wanted. They didn't have a lot of selection in the place Bobby recommended." He tosses a package at Dean.
"This'll work." He just wants to keep the worst of the dirt off her, hopefully keep any stray critters from setting up shop in the engine. He hadn't been able to find anything to block that hole next to the barn door. "I already cleared out everything I could, so you start unfolding and let me lock her up." He hands it back to Sam, checks to make sure the keys aren't still in the ignition, and climbs out.
Dean runs his hand along the roof. Maybe he's imagining the warmth under his fingers.
Or maybe it's left over from the dream. She'd just wanted an answer, and he'd gotten sidetracked, and she couldn't hold it.
It would have hurt him if she had, somehow he knows that, and she won't let him be hurt. That's why she won't walk in his dreams.
He glances at Sam. How many people have told him he loves Sam too much, that their relationship is twisted to the point of being dangerous?
Maybe....
Maybe she's like that, too.
Sam helps him spread the tarp over her, but he doesn't notice when Dean leans in and whispers, "I promise."
Title: The Sound of Goodbye (FFN / AO3)
Word Count: 2500
Rating: G
Summary: Impalaverse, during 7.06. This absolutely can't turn out like the last time they left her.
The Impalaverse is done, folks. I'm not saying definitively that there will never be a season 8 or 9 story, but I doubt one will pop up at this point.
Frank's orders have left them spinning, so much that Dean doesn't even think about a certain practicality until they're standing outside and Sam quietly asks, "Which one of us is going to tell her?"
To Frank, it's a matter of parking the car somewhere and abandoning it. Frank thinks they're just stupid and sentimental.
Nobody ever understands.
The last time they tried to store the Impala, she followed them and beat up the new car.
Dean can feel the headache starting already, a needle of pain trying to drill into his skull, right between his eyebrows. "She's my car," he says finally, "I'll do it."
He tries not to hate Sam for that transparent look of sheer relief. Not that he really blames Sam. He and the car haven't gotten along since Sam came back from Hell. Something happened between them. Sam's not as easy in the car any more, and she's not as protective of him as she used to be. The last time she rolled over Sam's foot, she broke two bones, which never happened before, in all the thousands of times she'd pulled that little prank.
The job sucks everything away eventually.
***
They stop to arrange for new transportation and unload the weapons. Sam's antsy, wanting to get out there and stop the fuckers using their faces right this minute, but Dean's not about to put his baby into long-term storage without the proper prep. Sure, this could go away as soon as they get the impersonators, but Dean quit having any faith in the Winchester luck somewhere around the second near-death experience (which, he feels it necessary to point out, even in the sanctuary of his own head, is not the same as his second actual death). Better safe than sorry.
And this time, he'll make sure she gets the proper prep and that she can't follow them. Not without damaging herself.
There's a few acres that used to belong to the Harvelles. Technically, they still do, since Ellen and Jo aren't officially dead-there wasn't enough left for the authorities to identify. Bobby's been paying the taxes on it since they died. He could probably rig up a transfer of the deed (at this point, Dean's pretty sure that Bobby could transfer ownership of the White House if he really put his mind to it) but having it listed under Ellen's name is just another layer of safety and misdirection. At some point during Dean's year out, Bobby turned an old barn into a decently disguised garage. Bobby's never owned a vehicle worth storing, but other hunters do, treasured bits of their past they don't want to entrust to life on the road.
Bobby won't say whether or not he did that just in case the Impala had to be stored, just in case Dean turned up dead instead of tucked away in the suburbs, and Dean can't make himself ask.
He lets her back herself in, lets her judge how close to the wall she wants to be. She does her usual precise job, leaving more than enough room for him to get around her for whatever maintenance he might have to do without blocking access to any other vehicle that might get stored here, though right now her only roommate is an old boat. He's going to miss this. Her ability to drive herself has been damned useful. Sure, it had been creepy at first, but they'd gotten used to it pretty quick. Dean hates to think how much Sam would be bitching about his drinking if they didn't have the car to take over when things get crazy.
By this point, she has to know something's up. She's not stupid. Sometimes Dean thinks she's the smartest one of them. It's sure as hell not him, or he would've found a way to make somebody else do this. But she won't hurt him.
At least, he doesn't think she'll hurt him. She's slammed doors on Sam and run down Cas, and Bobby swears that once she shoved his wheelchair so that it rolled into the road, but she's never done anything to Dean. No more than a shove or a nudge, anyway.
He hasn't had to have this kind of conversation with her since Lisa got so freaked out. Not that he blamed her-she was seeing and hearing something, and she was too sensible to claim it was the car if it wasn't.
She's his car, but she almost never interacts with him the way she does with everybody else. He doesn't get playful-or pissed-whacks with the door the way Sam does, doesn't get annoyed little noises like Cas. He doesn't even get her in his dreams the way Lisa did. Another man would simply assume that everybody else was playing an elaborate prank.
If Dean ever doubted, seeing Cas-a damn angel-address the car with respect every time he shows up, even if only a brief "hello, Impala," would have convinced him.
He never told Lisa, but he was actually a little jealous. He knows the Impala's aware, knows what she's capable of, knows that half the stunts she pulls are on his behalf, but she's never tried to talk to him. Lisa had started having her own bad dreams about the same time, and he's always wondered if somehow the Impala was doing that, if there was some kind of communication going on that was bypassing him entirely. That was about the same time Lisa had started offhandedly mentioning things there was no way for her to know about. He'd thought maybe he'd mentioned them, in the early days when there was more booze in his system than blood.
Now he wonders if the Impala was the one telling her those things.
"We're in trouble, baby," he says quietly. "More than usual. This time- You have to stay here this time, okay? I need you to stay here."
There's a change in the air, a second before she hits him in the leg. Yeah. He didn't think this was going to be that easy. He doesn't know if horn-beeping and light flickers are going to be enough for a real conversation, though.
"It's dangerous for all of us right now. They're looking for us, really looking, and they know exactly what we drive. I can't fix this by swapping plates. Not this time. Me and Sam-if we're going to get out of this, we need every advantage we can get. And that means-" He scrubs at a speck of dust that may or may not actually be on her hood. "We have to leave you, baby. I'm sorry, but there's no other way."
The whole barn goes quiet, like she's somehow shushed every bird in the rafters. The air feels dead around him in a way it hasn't in years. Not when it was just him and her.
After a minute, the birds start up again, but the dead feeling doesn't go away, even after he turns the radio on.
He makes himself get to work. He doesn't know if she's taking it well or not, because right now, she could be any car out there-not helping, not fighting, just...there. It makes the purely physical aspect of it easier, at least, though more than once he catches himself worrying. He can't put her up on blocks or drain the engine completely, there may come a day they need a quick getaway. Most of what he's doing will just keep anybody else from running off with her; he's not sure it'll stop her from busting out of here. She'll damage herself if she does, but- Well, it wasn't healthy to beat up that beigemobile either, and that didn't stop her.
He digs the last of the working cellphones and a spare gun out of the glove compartment and adds them to the stack of things to take, turns the radio off, and he's done.
Things still don't feel right. It's like she's gone.
Maybe she has. He has no idea what it would take for a pure spirit to wriggle itself out of the shell and move on. Doesn't even know if it's possible. It might be something that can be done quietly, without the thick-headed human even noticing. Hell, it took him forever to notice that she was even in there, why would he notice her leaving?
Not that he blames her, if she's figured out how. It's for their own good-all three of them-but this is a betrayal. Nothing else.
"It'll be awhile till Sam gets here," he says finally, breaking a silence as awkward as the one after he told Sam he remembered Hell. "I'm taking a nap." That comes out sounding like he's asking permission, but hell, maybe he should be. He slides behind the wheel without even considering that he could stretch out in the back seat and be way more comfortable. He belongs behind the wheel.
The radio sputters to life with "Hey Jude," and he's not even going to ask how she managed that. Besides, it's soothing, and his body remembers when that was his lullaby, because he's asleep before the end of the song.
***
He's-nowhere. It feels vaguely sunny-the warm, peaceful kind of sunny, with no hint of a storm brewing, that he hasn't felt in years-but it's not a field or a park or anything. He can't even be definite he's outside. There's not really a here here.
Then, suddenly, there's someone else there with him-an impossible woman, as tall as he is, no figure to speak of, black as sin against the imagined sunshine, with metallic silver fingernails and a cascade of hair that he honest-to-God swears is chrome-colored. If he saw something like her in the real world, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.
Somehow, when Lisa told him she was seeing a woman, he'd envisioned someone-well-sexy. Not this. No wonder Lisa had freaked.
She looks like she's wearing a dress, but there's no seams, no hems, no nothing to mark the difference between her sleeves and her hands, her collar and her neck, and her hands and face and skirt are all the exact same pitch-black, so- Is she naked? And why the hell doesn't she have legs? Are there feet under that skirt? Or is the skirt her legs?
Are you supposed to have headaches in your dreams?
The woman just stares at him with freaky eyes like headlights, and-
Eyes like headlights.
Dean's own eyes automatically drop to where a silvery pendant hangs-or is maybe imbedded-over her heart. The Impala logo. Holy shit. This is her.
Lisa, what the hell did you do to my car?
"I was always here," she said, and if he didn't know better, he'd think her feelings were hurt. "I just...changed my shape."
"Baby?" That earns him a shy smile. "What the-"
"I'll behave," she says, "if you promise to come back."
"It may not be up to me."
The headlight eyes dim. "Do you think I don't know that? How dangerous the world is? Do you think I don't feel it every time you die? Do you think I don't mourn as much as Sammy?"
He stares at her. "You feel it?" Every time? Christ, how many times has he died in the past few years? Some days, he's not sure he's still sane after all that, and he's a human, not a car.
"Every time," she says.
He never thought about that. He just- She's a car. How can she even know what death is, let alone feel it? And to mourn- How can she not fear, after all that, the way Cas says a pure spirit can't? "I'm sorry." It's stupid, but it's all he can think to say.
The edges of here start to waver, like the dream is about to break. "Not yet," he hears her whisper.
"Baby?" He catches her hand. The fingers are slightly out of proportion, too long, too thin, the nails too narrow. She can't really make herself into a human, just something that looks vaguely like one. "What is it?"
"I can't maintain it. Not with you. With the woman, I could, but-I wasn't bonded to her." There's strain in her voice, and she jerks her hand away. "It's too much."
Bonded. Is that what they are? "Why don't you talk to me?" he asks. "You talk to everybody else, but not me."
"It's too strong." The wavering is getting worse. This is starting to feel more like a spell about to collapse than it does a dream.
"How can-"
"Too much power. It would destroy you."
"What-"
Her hands are shaking. No, more than that. Those chrome fingernails are digging into her palms. Cars don't sweat, but he thinks he may be about to see this one bleed. She's holding to this space with everything she has and it's still not stable.
Because of him? He is so not worth this, and he opens his mouth to tell her so.
"I can't hold it," she whispers, and everything shatters.
***
"I break my neck to get here, and you're napping?"
Dean forces his eyes open. Sam's yanked the car door open and is looming. His voice is sharper than usual, and his thumb is digging into his palm again, where he thinks Dean won't see it. He's not pissed off, then. Not at Dean. He just can't take it out on Lucifer. "Well, you drive like a little old lady, Sammy," Dean says, knowing that the familiarity of brotherly teasing will help Sam relax, no matter what stunts Satan is pulling over in the corner. "I didn't think you'd be here till tomorrow."
"Ha," Sam says dryly. "I hope I got the kind of tarp you wanted. They didn't have a lot of selection in the place Bobby recommended." He tosses a package at Dean.
"This'll work." He just wants to keep the worst of the dirt off her, hopefully keep any stray critters from setting up shop in the engine. He hadn't been able to find anything to block that hole next to the barn door. "I already cleared out everything I could, so you start unfolding and let me lock her up." He hands it back to Sam, checks to make sure the keys aren't still in the ignition, and climbs out.
Dean runs his hand along the roof. Maybe he's imagining the warmth under his fingers.
Or maybe it's left over from the dream. She'd just wanted an answer, and he'd gotten sidetracked, and she couldn't hold it.
It would have hurt him if she had, somehow he knows that, and she won't let him be hurt. That's why she won't walk in his dreams.
He glances at Sam. How many people have told him he loves Sam too much, that their relationship is twisted to the point of being dangerous?
Maybe....
Maybe she's like that, too.
Sam helps him spread the tarp over her, but he doesn't notice when Dean leans in and whispers, "I promise."