When The Impala Started to Purr, for silverkit (gen, PG)

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Title: When The Impala Started to Purr.
Author: wenchpixie / Ozzy Osbourne
Recipient: silverkit
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: 2,344 words. Betas by ysbail & orphan_project. All recognizable characters owned by Kripke Enterprises. Fulfills silverkit’s request (additional Author's Notes, detailing which one I used, at the end). I hope you like it hun.
Summary: It should have been obvious, really, that their luck wasn’t going to hold that long.


~~

Dean wasn’t scared; he was fifteen, he was finally driving the Impala with Dad’s permission and he really, positively, wasn’t scared.

His grip slipped slightly on the wheel and he wiped his hand on his jeans, prompting Dad to growl from the seat next to him.

Dean slumped a little; why the hell did Bobby have to live so far away?

oOo

Things had been going really well, they’d had this crazy old house off to the back of Mrs. Tilson’s property; a rambling place with rooms tacked on any old how, but in good repair, decently fitted out and with a screened porch for sleeping when it got really warm. Mrs. Tilson paid well for odd jobs, too – easy things like tacking on fallen roof shingles, or watering the garden in the early dusk – which made life a lot more pleasant all round.

Mrs. Tilson hadn’t asked any awkward questions about Dad’s regular, and extended, absences either; and she often invited Sammy up to her house to ‘play’ - which meant that Dean had made more friends in this sleepy backwater almost-town than anywhere else they’d been for the last four years. And those friends included Catherine… sparkling, blue-eyed, accommodating Catherine.

Dean bit his bottom lip as he remembered the last time he’d seen Cat, ha! Cat! - she’d come over to the house, sneaking out of her bedroom window and making her way over moonlit cornfields to their screen porch and Dean had let her in, pulling her past a sleeping Sammy, through doors and corridors, to an unused bedroom on the other side of the house. In the balmy heat of that under-ventilated room Dean and Cat had… fumbled, and laughed, and tried again, kept trying until the sun was smudging the sky and they finally got it oh so very right.

There was a place on her neck, just behind her left ear, that tasted sweet even with the salt-tang of sweat.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dad cuffed him, and glared at the road ahead, reminding him to pay attention. He rolled down the window, letting the cool night air blow into his face.

He couldn’t even put the radio on, because Sammy was sleeping in the back seat and the last time he’d turned it, quietly, to a local rock station, Sammy’s quiet, rolling snores had turned to a whining caterwaul. Dean grit his teeth. So not worth it.

The car rumbled on through the dark, smoothly swallowing up the miles between them and Bobby.

oOo

It should have been obvious, really, that their luck wasn’t going to hold that long. They were Winchesters after all, and Winchesters just weren’t that lucky – even with all that you make your own luck, son guff that Dad came out with.

The school had been a good one, all the kids in one place, so he could keep an eye on Sammy, but blessed with teachers who actually gave a damn about their subjects. That happened less often than the T.V. seemed to think. There had been a real shop class – and Dean’d been allowed to try out his own projects; Mr. Elner had helped him futz about with the electronics in the old junker the class had been working on. It had been great.

Dad had been kept busy with hunting, sure, but they’d been easy hunts; simple little salt and burns, incantations rather than barreling in guns blazing. They took time, kept him away from the house for days and sometimes weeks at a time, but Sammy was 11 now and the cost of living was low – free, almost, when Mrs. Tilson insisted on giving them all the left over produce from her yard. It had been good.

Right up until Dad got wind of a spirit or demon or something that was causing problems a couple of towns over. He’d not been able to work out what it was so he’d resorted to using a banishment ritual that Pastor Jim had sent him.

That had gone real well.

Until the whateverthefuck had decided that as it couldn’t go home any more, it was going to follow Dad to his home.

Dad, who was so angry when he found Dean and Cat all tangled up together in bed that he sent them out to wait in the car, went storming through the house to see Sammy and didn’t notice that the salt lines in the porch were smudged, blown by the early morning breeze.

Dean had known something was wrong when it took Dad forty minutes to come out, and then just sent Cat home.

oOo

Dad had practically dragged Sammy out to the car by the scruff of his neck, and his little brother had whined sleepily about not wanting to go in the car in his pajamas. He’d whined even more when Dad took his pajamas off.

Dean hoped that he’d never, ever have to go through an hour like that again in his life, sitting up front, trying not to look in the rear view at his naked brother and father, trying not to listen to their pained screams, covering his ears as they wound down into hisses and yowls.

He’d started driving when a heavy thump on the seat next to him, and a soft paw on his shoulder, told him to look up and he was eye to eye with a huge, brown-eyed, panther.


oOo

Dad and Sammy had mostly slept, curled up, enjoying the sun and keeping out of sight from any passing cars.

They’d hidden down between the seats when Dean had to stop for gas, and he’d pulled right off the road, behind some trees, before he let them out and shared the take out he’d bought for a late, late, lunch.

Sammy seemed to have been turned into some kind of kitten-panther, all huge feet and ears, with the attention span of a goldfish. He had to have been hungry, but he spent more time chasing after a burger wrapper that got caught by the wind than he did eating the meat from inside it.

Dean felt entirely miserable, but he couldn’t help laughing when Sammy gave up on the wrapper and started chasing Dad’s twitching tail, instead. Even if Dad did give him a very baleful look that meant Dean would be in trouble, later, when Dad had hands again.

It took him a moment to realize what Dad was doing when he picked Sammy up by the scruff of the neck and took him into the thickest part of the trees… it had been a while since Sammy had needed to be taken to the bathroom. As for the washing after… Dean wasn’t sure who he’d be teasing more about that.

oOo

The Impala was the best car; grumbly and soothing, strong as a tank and sleek as the night; but she was heavy and Dean’s arms hurt and his knee was aching. The lines on the road kept blurring into each other and every car coming the other way dazzled and half-blinded him.

Dad had driven them over half the country, barely stopping for days sometimes, but Dean had no idea how he’d done it. They’d only been on the road for about twelve hours and Dean was so tired he felt like he could steer off the road any moment. Dad and Sammy were sleeping, still, Dad’s heavy tail flicking against Dean’s leg - no longer helping him stay awake, but making his eyes feel even heavier.

They had to get to Bobby, and soon.

oOo

By the time the rusty metal fence that marked the edge of Bobby’s property came into view, Dad was gently nipping Dean’s elbow every couple of minutes. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep Dean’s attention on the car and the road ahead. More or less. He winced as the fender scraped against one of the rocks that marked the edge of Bobby’s gateway.

Dean stumbled, catching himself on the hood of the car, as he headed over to open the gate. Sammy was still sleeping and Dad was silently watching him out the window of the car.

A loud growl from just inside the gate startled Dean as he tried to unhook the chain that kept it closed, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as a huge, barking, angry, black, shape flung itself against the other side. He sank to his knees, defeated. Bobby’s dogs could smell Dad and Sammy. They’d never be able to get out of the car.

He blinked as a bright light shone right into his face, too tired to bring a hand up to shield his eyes.

“Dean Winchester? Is that you?” Dean nodded, head dropping, his whole body slumping.

He felt cold mud seeping through his jeans but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Bobby was doing something with the dogs, taking them back from the gate, but Dad and Sammy, Bobby wouldn’t know… Dean steeled himself, willing his arms to take his weight, his legs to stand up, but then there were hands under his armpits, hauling him to his feet, helping him back to the car.

“John! You in there?” Dean felt the instant Bobby saw Dad, Bobby tried to cover his shock but Dean still felt the jolt that went through him.

“Dean, son, is that your Dad?”

Dean nodded, “and Sammy n’the back. S’thing followed Dad home, turned ‘em.”

“Okay, okay. You bring your Dad’s journal?” Dean nodded, and went to open the door.

“Woah Dean, you ain’t driving any more. You look beat to hell and gone already – and I saw that scuff up her front fender. John, get in the back, let your boy ride up with me.”

oOo

Bobby’s dogs were really unhappy about there being two panthers in the house, but Bobby had chained them up tight, and even Sammy got past them okay, once Dad grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out of the back of the car.

Bobby had Dad’s journal and was trying to work back and find out what it was that had turned Dad and Sammy – Dad was helping, more or less, answering Bobby’s questions with a low growl or the occasional yip. Sammy was curled up in a ball in front of the fire sleeping again and Dean could finally relax. He felt the tension in his shoulders finally release as he sank back into the ratty cushions of Bobby’s old couch.

His eyes flickered closed and he saw the road in front of him again, an endless stretch of black, tapering off into the distant dark.

“Dean, come on, wake up.” Someone was shaking him. “Come on, we need to get you to bed. You can’t sleep here.”

“Bobb…” Dean felt drugged.

“Yeah, you got your folks here, and they’re going to be fine – in about a week. Just a case of keeping them from eating any rats or anything meantime.”

“Mmmh.” Dean let himself be led upstairs and put to bed. The last thing he remembered was Bobby loosening off his boots.


oOo

Keeping his father and brother from eating any rats was easy. Keeping Sammy from driving Bobby’s dogs completely wild was anything but.

Once he’d gotten over his initial terror of the animals, Sammy took great joy in sitting just beyond the end-reach of their chains, gnawing on a steak, or rolling on his back. Dean kept hauling him back indoors sure that, no matter how strong the chains were, Sammy was going to end up dog-dinner.

Not that it was a bad few days - with Dad and Sammy sleeping away huge chunks of them Dean had a lot of free time, the Impala had a ding and they were staying in a scrap yard. Dad had tried to show Dean everything that he did to the car, and Dean had always been an avid student in shop, but Bobby’s yard was like heaven. Bobby showed him what he needed to do to take the dent out of the fender, how to polish it up until it shone and how to clean off the tiny rust spots that threatened her chassis.

Once the Impala was gleaming, clean and pristine, Dean started tinkering with other cars in the yard – asking Bobby what needed to be done, and how to do it if he wasn’t sure. Hunting was his life, Dean knew that, but maybe, when it was over, he could work on some cars.

oOo

Working in Bobby’s yard was hard, and left Dean falling asleep as the sun went down each night, but it was a good tired, and Bobby was a good teacher – easier to please than Dad and willing to let Dean mess things up a little on the old wrecks he kept lying around.

The sun was just beginning to lighten the window and Dean was enjoying the quiet last hour in bed, dreaming of the Impala, how he was going replace her engine and tune her up so she’d fly along the blacktop, when he felt a heavy paw… a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, time to get up. The vacation’s over; you and your brother need to go back to school, and I’ve a Leshii to sort out.”

Dean sat up, rolled his shoulders and looked over at Sammy’s bed; his little brother was as wrapped up in the sheets as he’d been as a cat, but the tuft of hair sticking out the top was all real, human, Sammy. The only sign that he’d been anything but were the rough scores he’d clawed into the bedpost before Dean had managed to stop him. Bobby hadn’t seemed to mind - “He’s just cleaning his claws, Dean” - but it would be better once Dean had taken some sandpaper to it and re-oiled the surface.

He looked up at his father’s face, and felt his lips quirk in response to the warm smile he found there. “Nice job on the car, son, she’s looking great.”


~~~

A/N 2: The prompts I looked at were; Dean and Bobby bond over something unexpected - which I failed to deliver on, given cars are pretty much exactly what I’d expect them to bond over – and Pre-series: Sam, Dean or John gets turned into some kind of big cat, which I did manage. Sammy regresses from 11 to ‘kitten’ because of his relative age, he’s still a kid, so he’s a kitten.