phantisma: (Sam Broken)
[personal profile] phantisma
Fandom: Supernatural, Broken!Verse
Title: The Impala
Characters/Pairings: Sam, the Impala, Bobby
Rating: PG-13 (for overall theme)
Word Count: 1432
Summary: Pre-Broken (All parts of Broken are here. Sam goes to get the Impala at Bobby's.

A/Ns & Warnings: Heavy, serious angst and guilt.




He ditched the stolen car a few miles from Bobby’s, wiped it down inside and out, even though he had worn gloves the whole drive and set off to walk the rest of the way. He’d driven from Palo Alto to South Dakota in record time, spending most of it thinking of reasons Dean had been gone that didn’t equate to Dean being dead.

The problem with that was it mostly led to scenarios where Dean was laying at the bottom of some ravine or in a field, decaying away to nothing. And those were the pleasant scenarios.

There were so many possibilities, so many ways and reasons Dean could be gone…and none of them led Sam to a place that was warm and happy.

Half a mile up the road, he hitched a ride with a teenage kid driving out Bobby’s way and got dropped off at the end of the long dirt drive. Sam stared down it for a long time before he adjusted his bag and set a stiff pace up to the house.

Bobby would know he was coming long before he got there, he always did. There was something uncomfortable about this, about being here, without Dean…being here since the last time. It was here he told Dean about Stanford. It was here he told his brother they couldn’t keep doing what they were doing…even though it had been his idea. Even though Sam had demanded it and Dean had given it, because Dean never could say no.

He’d ended it so that Dean could have something normal, fall in love with some girl and find his way out of the horrific circle their father kept dragging them around. Sam shook his head. Up ahead one of the dogs was barking and he could hear the screen door squeak.

As he got close enough he could see Bobby leaning against his truck waiting for him. He raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, Bobby.”

Bobby nodded. “Your daddy said you was coming for the car.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I—“ He didn’t know what else to say. Bobby looked at him and neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. They both knew Dean was gone. They both knew six months was a long time to be missing. They both knew that the Impala very well could be all that was left of him.

“I expect you’re hungry. Come inside, I’ll give ya a sandwhich ‘for I go get her out of the back.”

He’d rather just get on the road, but his stomach growled at the thought of food. It had been a while since he’d eaten. “Yeah, okay.”


Bobby put the plate on the table and took his seat across from Sam. Sam looked at the sandwich, then up at Bobby. He didn’t look at the empty spot beside him where Dean always sat. He didn’t listen for the sound of boots on the stairs or a familiar voice calling his name.

“I got her all gassed up when your father called.” Bobby said around a mouthful of his own sandwich. “Shined her up nice too. Just the way—“

He didn’t say, but he didn’t need to. Sam knew. “Just the way Dean would want it.” Sam grunted in response. He ate in silence otherwise.

“You gonna start in Cassidy?” Bobby asked as he got up to put his plate in the sink.

Sam shook his head. “No. I’m going to retrace their steps first. See if I can put together some idea of who or what might have been watching them or trailing them….or something.”

“You think someone grabbed him?”

Sam stood and grabbed his plate. “Someone, something…I don’t know. I just…Dean doesn’t leave the Impala willingly.”

Bobby crossed his arms. “Have to be a pretty big someone or something to get the drop on Dean.”

Sam nodded. “I know.” They both stared at a spot on the floor in silence, imagining the scenarios that could lead to Dean disappearing…demons and monsters and after a long moment, Bobby stirred.

“I’ll go get her, bring her up for you.”

Sam nodded blindly and walked toward the door after Bobby. He stopped on the top step, looking out over the yard. If he closed his eyes, he could see Dean there, bent over, working under the hood of the Impala, sparring with Bobby and their father, his eyes green and sparkling, his skin all gold from the sun. A little turn of his head and he could see the wall of wrecked out cars that he first pushed Dean against and kissed him. It was awkward and hard and he had no idea whether Dean would understand or deck him.

Another turn of the head and he could just make out the row down which their hideaway waited…where they hid from Bobby and their father and the world at large…where he’d begged Dean…where he’d first touched Dean…and Dean had first touched him. They’d done it all there, hidden out in the wilds of Bobby’s yard, in a wrecked Mark IV that still held some of their deepest secrets.

“Hey, Bobby…wait up. I think I’d rather drive her myself…you know?” Sam jogged after him.

The sight of the Impala cut through his ragged memories and brought him up short and breathless. Three years since he’d last laid eyes on her black lines and it brought tears to his eyes.

Bobby stopped a few steps back and Sam blinked to clear his eyes before realizing Bobby was holding out the keys. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Sam nodded, pressing the heel of one hand into his eye as he took the keys. “Thank you Bobby.”

“You just be careful out there.” Bobby pulled him into a hug, thumped his back and let him go, disappearing back into the yard without another word. Sam licked his lips and let his eyes roam over the car. He was never the car guy in the family. John and Dean had that covered between them. Sam breathed carefully, pushing the panic away for the hundredth time and opened the car.

The definitive smell straight out of his memory greeted him as he slid into the driver’s set, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat and sliding his hands over the steering wheel. It was worn leather and dust, John’s Old Spice that had leaked onto the floor in the back seat and never faded, gun oil and salt…it was Dean…home…He swallowed and pulled the door closed, closing his eyes to savor the feeling.

He’d been in the Impala last when Dean dropped him off at the train station in LA. They had never said goodbye. They hadn’t said much at all. Sam opened his eyes and reached to adjust the mirror, his eyes catching on something in the back seat. He reached back, his hand falling on something soft and leather. He fisted his hand in it and brought it to him.

The breath stuck in his throat and he couldn’t stop the sob before it fully registered. It was Dean’s jacket. The stupid leather coat that he was so fucking proud of. He’d won it off some kid at a pool table in Idaho. Sam lifted it slowly, folding it so that the patch on the left elbow was under his fingers. Dean had ripped it saving his ass, and Sam had stolen the jacket to get it repaired. The man at the leather shop said it wasn’t worth fixing it was so beat up. Sam had cried and the man took pity on him.

It had still been months before Dean had forgiven him.

Sam’s eyes blurred, burned and his throat closed off. He buried his face in the lining of the jacket, imagining it still smelled vaguely of his brother…sweat and heat and Dean.

The insidious voice was growing again, as Sam sobbed, it repeated in the back of his head, “Dean is dead. Dean is dead.”

His stomach churned. “No.” He breathed in deep and threw the jacket into the seat beside him, pushing the key into the ignition. “No!”

The Impala roared to life, echoing his anger and pain as he pushed on the accelerator. They left a cloud of dust in their wake as they flew out onto the road and Sam ignored the wetness on his cheeks as he turned on the radio and shoved Led Zepplin into the tape deck. “Take me to him, girl.” Sam murmured under the pounding guitar, his right hand smoothing over the dash, “Take me to him.”
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