Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

It began with shattering glass.

Followed by a loud—

Thwack.

A crowbar.

The kid was strong–stronger than he had any business being. After all, less than two weeks ago, his insides had been torn to shreds. And that was before the truck blaring “Bad Moon Rising” slammed into them—

Thwack.

Still in pieces, its frame rattled from each new blow. Each blow an echo of their losses.

It had never imagined a world without John and had no idea what such a world looked like. Who could?

But Dean’s explosion felt like more than grief; it felt like anger. And fear.

It was hard to say what had set him off. Maybe it was Sam’s tearful admission, before he walked away, that he knew he could never make things right. Too little, too late.

Or maybe it was Sam’s quiet words that followed.

I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know.

Its boys had survived. But it saw so clearly, too clearly, the destruction that the demon with the yellow eyes had left in its wake.

2.

The demon had been there from the very start.

Well, no….that wasn’t accurate.

Dean had been there from the very start--when he had told John it was the “car of a lifetime.”

It could still hear Dean’s voice, silky smooth, convincing John to buy it instead of some rundown van that was better suited for Woodstock.

The demon arrived just after that, and destroyed Mary’s world. The demon killed her parents, then John. The cruelty did not end there.

As Mary sat alone in the night air, cradling John and his broken neck, it used her grief as a weapon. Unable to resist what he offered--John--the demon extracted a promise that she couldn’t understand. A slow-acting, venomous promise.

Thwack.

The crowbar broke through the metal of the trunk. Leaving another gaping hole.

Dean would have more to fix tomorrow.

Still, it would continue to do its job, as long as it could. It would carry the boys, their weapons and music, their anger and grief, piled upon grief…..

And the one thing it held best.

3.

Walking away from his latest effort to reach his brother, Sam winced at the noise behind him. He knew what it was but didn’t turn back. He couldn't help. Dean had made that much clear.

He kept walking.

Sam wondered again if Dean was keeping something from him—but maybe that was just grief, twisting things. He knew grief’s many forms—denial, anger, distraction.

Guilt.

He knew them all.

Thwack.

He felt each bang in his own head, behind his eyes, in each of his bones. Since the fight with the demons and then the truck, light was sometimes too bright, sounds too loud.

Despite the pain drilling deep into his head from the sound of metal hitting metal with fury, Sam felt a strange sense of relief. A feeling or emotion had finally erupted from his brother. All week, he’d been worried that Dean had been keeping it all locked inside. It wasn’t healthy.

Then he heard the soft, teasing voice he missed so much.

Are you the pot calling the kettle, Sam Winchester?

The memory of her smile tickled its way down his spine, loosening it up. A warm and gentle breeze pushed back the bangs from his head, as she had done so many times. A small smile started to curve on his lips as he remembered—

Thump –

The sound jarred him back. Sam would wait out the storm.

Then, maybe, he’d try to reach his brother again.

4.

Sam heard the metal groan under the weight of Dean’s repeated blows. Why was he attacking something he truly loved? Was Dean that convinced he didn’t deserve anything good? Or was it that the Impala had been Dad’s?

Sam wanted to know, to understand. But Dean had shut him out. He'd never seen Dean quite like this. But, then again, a lot had changed over the last days.

Sam had even changed his mind about going back to school. At Dean’s bedside–begging Dean to survive, telling him that they were just starting to be brothers again–he made a promise. If Dean survived, he’d never leave again. If Dean just pulled through, he’d even find a way to get along with Dad.

But that could never happen now.

And it had been the one thing Dean had ever wanted for himself. Irony wasn’t dead; it was part of life as a Winchester. Sam couldn’t be sure Dean even wanted him to stay now after all that had happened. All that could never happen now.

Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right?

Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.

All he could do was wait as Dean poured his anger and grief into every blow.

5.

Sitting at his desk, Bobby gave up and looked out the window toward the source of the noise.

In a lot full of junkers, the Idjit chose to pound on the one damn thing he owned. The car that Sam had insisted they save, the one that Dean had just spent weeks fixing, searching endlessly for parts across four states and counting.

Bobby poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey, then set about making stew. A little cayenne and jalapenos always seemed to calm the boy down when he’d gotten too worked up.

Maybe, once he wore himself out, the boy would finally come in and eat something.

6.

Thud.

It had survived worse. The humiliation of being hauled onto the tow truck, for example.

For the past week, Dean had worked on it alone until deep into the night or early in the morning. Sometimes with music playing low, sometimes in heavy silence.

More than once, he’d fallen asleep right there, head resting against its frame.

Sam offered help. Bobby too. But Dean got angrier each time they offered. Meals were quietly brought and left untouched. Beer was a different story. The hard stuff came out under the cover of darkness.

It didn’t want Bobby’s help–it would take a while to be alright with Bobby after he told Sam that it wasn’t worth the tow. As if it were any old vehicle to be discarded when inconvenient. Bobby should know better.

But Sam refused, knowing his big brother would need it when he recovered.

When he gets better, he’s gonna want to fix it…We’re not just going to give up on….

Bobby gave in to Sam then, knowing what Sam was refusing to give up on.

Who Sam would always refuse to give up on.

7.

Between the blows, it remembered small things.

Just before the tow truck, it had felt the double tap of Sam’s hand on its roof. Tap, Tap. Reassurance for them both. Then, Sam’s fingertips dragged across its crumpled side, gentle even through the ruin. It was their own language.

That touch recalled the many times that Sam, as a boy, trailed his fingers along the door before daring to open it. Even with John and Dean impatient to move on, little Sammy always paused, testing the steel beneath his hand before climbing in.

From a young age, Sam had a habit of questioning everything.

It remembered Mary’s head against the passenger window. John’s once-light grip on the wheel that had tightened over the years into obsession.

It remembered that Sam’s life was built on absence. It knew that Sam touched and sought proof because he had so little certainty in his life.

It remembered Dean, once a boy who bounced in the back seat, eager for the road ahead.

It knew that rage was the only thing holding Dean together now. And Sam. It knew that if Sam left again, Dean would break apart into pieces too many to mend, like that Humpty Dumpty rhyme Sam used to love.

It knew what no one else did.

It remembered what the living forgot.

What the dead had buried.

It remembered it all.

Chapter Text

1.

It all started with Mary.

John was buying a car for her. For them. For their life together.

And Dean had been there because the angel had sent Dean back in time, and Dean had changed John’s mind about which car to buy. He’d called it the "car of a lifetime."

Because it already had been.

That had felt right to John, in a way he could never explain.

But that was also when the demon first saw Mary, when the angel sent Dean.

So maybe it all began with the angels…

...but they have no place in this story.

In its mind, it all started with Mary.

It started with her love for John.

2.

At age 19, Mary had been in love.

She sat in John’s new car, breathlessly planning their lives. When the demon–grotesquely wearing her Dad’s face–pulled her from the car and snapped John’s neck, and everything she knew vanished. The demon had killed her parents, but let John live. 

After the funeral for her parents, John would pick Mary up after working at the garage to try to coax her back from her grief. The first night that he offered to take her on a drive, Mary had kicked its tires and refused to get in.

What good will a drive do, John? My parents are dead!

She’d kicked again and again.

Once she was exhausted, John quietly opened the door for her. She got in.

And they drove.

Night after night, John would bring Mary a sandwich and drive her through the quiet streets. There were days, weeks, and then months of nights spent driving. Mary’s anger gave way to silence and sobs, words and memories. John always kept a warm blanket in the back seat for the chill that lived in her bones.

Sometimes, they would sit on the hood and search the sky for shooting stars, making silent wishes.

Eventually, music played, fingers intertwined, and laughter returned.

And Mary stopped thinking about the demons that haunted her past.

Together, they planned their future.

3.

Wedding bells rang, cans rattled against its bumper, and streamers trailed on the pavement. Boxes were piled onto its backseat and trunk.

One day, a crib rode in its trunk. Months later, John smoked a cigar in the driver’s seat and toasted to his newborn son. Diapers, formula, a playpen—all fit into its trunk.

Mary cradled baby Dean in her arms in the front seat and told John she believed there was an angel on their boy’s shoulder.

When Dean was too fussy to sleep, John would take him on night drives, letting Mary rest. Sometimes John stopped beneath the stars and promised Dean that he would always be there for him. Unlike his own Dad.

At Christmas, a tree was strapped to its roof, its pine needles scattering everywhere.

Once, Mary drove to Canada to save a boy named Asa. While there, she promised to stop hunting, to keep her family safe.

There were some hard times, too. In a fit of anger, John left for days. But he came back, and they drove for ice cream. While Dean slept, John and Mary spread the old blanket in a field and made love under the stars, letting their ice cream melt while fireflies flickered around them.

Less than a year later, there was another trip to the hospital–baby Sam, with chubby cheeks and a gentle nature.

There was laughter and joy. Hopes and dreams.

For a time, it was happy– they all were.

But it knew–even if no one else did–it wouldn’t last.

The demon had said in ten years' time.

And ten years had passed.

Much, much too fast. 

4.

Mary convinced herself that the demon was in the past.

She would pay a terrible price for her denial.

They all would.

Just after Halloween, it smelled the demon’s acrid scent, felt its contempt, sensed its greed.

But in the cool night air, it could offer no warning. Provide no shelter.

It stood sentry, helpless.

A piercing scream, a fire.

It watched the roof burn orange and back. Heard its crackle.

It waited.

And waited.

Seconds stretched like decades as thick black smoke seeped into its vents.

Finally, a door opened. There—little Dean, carrying a small bundle, baby Sammy, to safety, with John following behind.

Relief surged, only to vanish. It realized there were only three.

Only three heads huddled together. Not four.

It felt heavy, but it offered a place for John and the boys to sit as their world burned down. 

It never felt Mary’s head rest against its passenger window again.

5.

Grief once again settled into the creases of the seats, smothering them all.

John was everywhere and nowhere—an overbearing presence, an aching absence. There was no one there to nurture him back to life, as he had done for Mary. His anger, his single-mindedness, etched into the lines deepening on his face.

It wished for a version of John that no longer existed. The boys deserved a father, a parent. John’s pride and sorrow, love and pain, his guilt, were all hidden behind his silence. 

John filled the trunk with weapons instead of groceries.

They lived on the road, never having a real home.

6.

The world doesn't stop, even for grief.

The boys–its boys–grew.

Sam’s innocence and smiles lit Dean’s world.

And Dean…he was Sam’s world. The entirety of it.

7.

The best it could offer the boys was a smooth ride, a place to rest, the purr of a lullaby. Sam would read books out loud to Dean while Dean played with his toy soldiers. They listened as Sammy read, taking some of his wonder for themselves, replenishing their own depleted stores.

As they got older, its favorite times were when Dean drove Sam around–just the two of them. Without John, Dean was a natural-born storyteller; his warm and melodic voice would fill the car, turning the smallest moments into laughter. He performed for an audience of one.

And Sammy would jump into the car after school, rattling off grades he’d earned or topics he’d learned. Dean, did you know that octopuses have three hearts?

Sometimes Dean would watch Sam play soccer, leaning against the car, trying to be quiet. Eventually, he’d be unable to suppress a loud, “That's right, Sammy, you show them.” Earning a wince, followed by a shy smile, in return.

They would laugh, tease, and fight. At times, Sam would grow quiet, somber, and Dean would coax him back with a joke.

In those days, Sammy always came back.

Some nights, they snuck out to joyride. Dean would quietly ask Sam if he “thought he could get some sleep now.” And Sam would nod sleepily. It remembered John driving Mary until she could finally sleep.

When Dean was fourteen, he carried a feverish Sam into the car at midnight to search for Tylenol. “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon,” Dean said, mostly to calm himself. Sam, even sick, was calm; he had Dean taking care of him.

Its favorite nights were the ones when the boys slept on its benches.

Dean in the front, Sammy in the back.

Together.

8.

From a young age–too young–John trained the boys hard.

Early mornings and long evenings. It hated the exhaustion that clung to the boys when they returned from the woods or the field, but it saw how they drew strength from each other. John did too. And he used it to push them further. If Sam stopped, Dean would pay the price. If Dean offered to run Sam’s last laps, Sam would get extra laps to run instead.

The boys tried to satisfy a man who could never be satisfied. The hole inside John was just too big.

When John left them behind at one motel or another, it growled in anger. And when John fathered another child, it stiffened its ride, letting John feel its disapproval in each and every bump of the road.

Once it blew its radiator cap. Another time, it loosened its muffler.

Eventually, it understood John’s need for respite from the darkness. Even the child’s name, Adam, chosen by John, represented a chance at a new beginning.

It had no choice but to hold John's secret—as it held so many others.

9.

Through it all, the boys belonged to each other.

For a while, it was enough.

10.

But time went by.

And the boys grew older.

Chapter Text

All That’s Left

1.

It all changed when John started taking Dean hunting as a teen.

Dean took to hunting quickly, all instinct and determination. It could feel the rush of adrenaline hum through Dean’s veins. John quickly trusted him well beyond his years. And Dean fed on that. Eager to follow Dad, even if it meant leaving Sammy behind.

Upon their return, Sam would drag his feet and slam the door as he got into the car. He’d nod his hellos and quietly look out the window. John would ask how school was, and Sam would just shrug and say “fine.” Dean would try to bring Sam back with jokes and stories from their hunt. That worked sometimes.

It watched as Sam slowly became less sure of his place in their world.

Then there was the time when John and Dean returned from a hunt, and Sammy was not in the motel as expected. Or at school. Or anywhere they could find him. It had taken a week to find him in a run-down home owned by Child Protective Services.

When Sam returned, silent anger rolled off him in waves.

It began to miss the boy Sam had once been.

2.

When hunting, Dean never complained, never pushed back. Took his lumps and asked what was next.

Dean only wanted that nod of approval that sometimes came when the job was done. But more often, John would tell Dean about all the mistakes he’d made, and Dean’s head would sink down under the weight of his words.

It watched as John used Dean as bait, and dangled him in front of the monsters they hunted like the only red apple left in the orchard.

Nothing was right about that.

But it held onto the knowledge that it had met an older version of Dean. While it knew Dean would survive, it wondered about the toll on the boy.

Other hunters voiced its concerns:

You sure about that John? He’s only a kid.

John would reply coolly:

The kid can handle himself. If you don't like the plan, leave.

3.

It wished John knew that Mary had hunted. And that she had decided to give up hunting for the sake of her family's safety. That hunting was the last thing she would have wanted for any of her boys.

It would have broken her heart to see it.

It knew that.

It remembered it all.

4.

They would bring Sam on hunts, leaving him in the car, as young as twelve.

Deep in those nights, as he sat by himself, all alone, it would feel Sam’s then-small fingers gripping the edge of the seat. Sam, holding the gun his Dad had left him in one hand, too big for his hands.

His breath would speed up and grow shallow.

He’d whisper to himself over and over, they’ll be back, they’ll be back, as he patted his pocket feeling for his knife.

It heard Sam ask for “Sully,” pleading with him to come back.

I could use a friend, after all.

There was no reply.

5.

Then came the months when Dean was away at the boy’s home.

John let him stay there after seeing Dean in the yard playing football with some of the other boys, smiling and looking like a boy his age should. It saw the realization in John’s eyes of all that Dean had never been allowed to experience, all he had lost.

As the weeks passed, Sammy grew quieter and quieter. Shadows dug deep under his eyes, and lethargy set in. He stopped asking where Dean was. Then he stopped eating or talking much.

John left Sam at the church with Jim and went hunting, dark circles under his eyes as well.

It grieved its lost boys.

Finally, John picked up Sammy and told him they were going to get Dean. Sam’s eyes immediately sparked back to life.

He remembered how to smile.

For a little while.

6.

As a teen, Sam’s anger was a slow burn that eventually set their world on fire.

He was angry about everything.

Leaving school after school without notice.

Trainings.

Being small.

Research.

Not being allowed to join sports teams or do plays.

.

His worries about Dean.

About Dean’s safety.

Sam’s questions were discarded and left unanswered.

Sam was mad that Dean had willingly become Daddy’s soldier.

Most of all, Sam was mad that Dean was no longer his.

7.

It felt the tornado long before it arrived.

One night, it saw a nervous Sam walk into Dad’s room with Dean, asking to talk to them both, a thick envelope in hand, a hopeful look on his face. His shoulders slouched, but his head held high. It knew that determined look well by now.

The door shut.

Voices exploded.

Anger unleashed.

Dean stalked out the door and over to the bar.

Minutes later, Sam, cheeks red and angry, hair sticking up all over the place, banged the door shut behind him.

Later, John sat outside in the dark, smoking and drinking.

Dean staggered back after last call.

In the early hours of the new day, Sam walked out with a large bag slung over his shoulder. It felt Sam’s fingertips softly on its side and the pats on its roof.

Tap-Tap.

Sam was saying goodbye. It wanted to wish Sam well, since no one else had, and wanted to tell Sam it hoped he smiled again wherever he was going.

It watched Sam walk away, getting smaller and smaller.

John sat in silence as he watched, too, unnoticed by Sam.

Until Sam was gone.

8.

John drove to Stanford and watched Sam from afar.

It ached for John to make things right, and remembered that John and Mary had wanted the boys to go to college. Mary would have been so proud of Sam–Stanford on a full ride.

How could John have forgotten all of that? 

On the way back, John called Jim.

Yeah, I saw him ….No …I don’t get how he’d just turn his back on all his obligations …just selfish…I raised him better than that ….

yeah, yeah, maybe….

maybe she wouldn’t…..

9.

The months that followed were quiet.

Heavy silence blanketed John and Dean. Dean was angry, sullen. Reckless at times. John drank more and said even less. His eyes became decades older.

John bought himself a truck.

And it became Dean’s–an offering of sorts.

Maybe John thought it would help Dean fill the space left by Sam. Or maybe it was too painful for John to drive it anymore. Maybe John had remembered Mary and their hopes for their boys. Their wishes under the stars.

It would never know.

It didn’t really matter much.

The truth was, it had been Dean’s from the start.

10.

The boys tried to bridge the gap between them. A few calls and texts. There was a camping trip in the summer, but it all fell apart. Sam said another angry goodbye.

Tap-Tap.

See you…sometime.

Still, Dean would drive to Sanford every so often. Once in a panicked rush after a call from James.

Other times just to see his baby brother happy in his new world. The blonde with the big smile who shared Dean’s birthday.

The girl Sam loved.

11.

Dean hunted with John, and at times, he hunted alone.

There was a woman Dean let himself love. A broken heart. Later, Lisa and many others.

As more time passed, a flask of whisky became Dean’s most constant companion.

Other hunters offered to pair up when John wasn’t around, but Dean always politely declined.

Nah, I’d only hold you back.

He was waiting on Sam.

12.

Finally, Dean stopped waiting.

He got his brother.

It was Halloween when Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel and paced for hours. It felt his quickened heartbeat in the pulse of his hands. It didn’t remember Dean ever being this nervous about anything before.

In the end, Sam agreed more easily than it had expected. It seems Sam had missed his brother, too.

College-Sam was just a bigger version of the boy he’d once been. More confident and less angry. One who talked again. And smiled. A boy who was happy.

And in love.

A man eager to return to the life he had created for himself, despite missing his brother. It was happy to see the man Sam was becoming.

But the demon had other plans. Winchesters were not allowed happiness that lasted. Their joy was a weapon wielded against them to break them down.

Once again, it watched a terrible fire.

Again, Dean carried Sam out.

This time, Sam fought to get back in, back to his girl, but he was blocked by his brother. Until his knees hit the ground and he sobbed in Dean’s arms.

It watched another Winchester grieve.

13.

Then it was Dean driving Sammy through the darkness. In his grief.

Sam’s grief adding to all that had come before.

They hunted the demon together. Sam was angry, but grateful for his brother. Even if it took him a while to realize that.

You and me. We are all that’s left.

There were nightmares and headaches. Silences and anger.

It worried that Sam would become too much like John and sacrifice himself, or anyone else, to get revenge. But Dean didn’t allow that.

It saw Sam’s look in the rearview mirror. It heard him answer John.

With a certainty placed there by Dean.

No, sir. Not before everything.

Dean had somehow gotten through to Sam—

Just before the truck shattered them all to pieces.

14.

Added grief upon grief.

Where would it end?