21
Ξ August 25th, 2007 | → | ∇ Supernatural, fanfic, gen, pg13 |
Title: 21
Author: Astrothsknot
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13, Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Disclaimer: I don’t own a TV show
A/N: Missyjack asked how Dean got the Impala in our own personal fanon. I wrote this in the comments.
“21, dude. You can finally legally do all the shit you’ve been doing for years,” grins Sam.
“Fuck off,” groans Dean, resting his head against the bowl. The toilet’s stinking and piss stained and it’s really not helping his hangover.
“CELEBRATE A LITTLE EARLY, DID WE?” Sam yells.
“F’off.” Dean swats at him ineffectually.
“Sort yourself out, Dean,” says John, coming in to see what the racket is. “I want you showered, dressed and out front in twenty.”
“Yessir…”
Sam snorts with laughter.
“At least I made the toilet, unlike others on their 16th birthdays,” Dean retorts.
***
“He’s got you a car. I bet it’s that truck he’s been doing up in Dan McCaffrey’s garage this last three months,” Sam says as he walks out with Dean to the street.
“Bout fucking time,” says John.
And there it is, a black, 1983 Chevy truck, raised bed and Dean can see the cache on the back. John’s holding the keys and Dean walks over to him. He can’t believe it…all that time of trying to raise the money for his own truck, accepting John’s we don’t need the expense of two, we work as team, don’t need two cars and all the while, John had been doing this for him.
Who needed I love yous and Hallmark shit?
“Dad…I…” Dean can’t speak, he’s too overcome.
“Not that one, son. That’s mine.” Dean stops, confused. Sam’s got his bitchface on and he prays to God that he’s not going to start with Dad on his fucking birthday. “Here’s your keys.”
Dean sees the familiar keys hanging from his father’s finger. “I…don’t…”
“The Impala, she’s yours. Man your age needs his own car.” John takes Dean’s hand and slams the keys in his palm. “I wouldn’t take her for a spin just yet, not till that hangovers’ cleared.”
Dean wanders over to the gleaming black car, drawing his fingers lightly over her cool metal, drinking in her smooth lines, like he’s just seen her for the first time.
He has in a way. He’s spent his life in this car, but as his father’s child. Now he’s his own man, and this car is his. It’s freedom, in their lifestyle. He can choose his path.
He muses this as he feels the leather seats under his ass and against his back, the smell sharp in a way that’s nothing to do with his hangover.
“Want a ride, Sammy?” Dean asks and Sam gets in with him, grinning. “Wonder if that’s gonna be your present someday,” he says, looking at John’s new truck.
“I guess it’s more practical,” Sam replies, guardedly. “Happy Birthday.”
Dean laughs. “You got that right.”
