sam needs to get some air. he needs to clear his head, stop thinking about, well, everything. but mostly dean being dead. he sort of wishes he could stop thinking about dean altogether, but then he feels guilty. dean’s in hell for sam. because of sam.

as he steps out of the motel room into the brisk night air, he realizes it’s counterintuitive to take baby for a drive. in a way, that car is dean. it’s dean’s pride and joy. it was dean’s everything, aside from sam. and now that car is all that sam has left of him. some nights, he sleeps in the impala even when there’s a motel nearby. it’s the only thing that’s ever meant home.

and when he looks out into the spot in the parking lot that the impala should be parked in, his heart plummets and the blood from his face drains. dean was so much more protective of the car than sam, but he almost panics when he sees that the car is just gone.

then he spots you, laying on the asphalt where the impala should be, the ground wet from this morning’s rain.

at first, he thinks to accuse you of stealing his car. then he realizes that’s stupid, because you wouldn’t still be here if that’s the case. he approaches, ready to pull out the gun tucked into his jeans. but you appear to be asleep, curled up on the ground in nothing but jeans and a leather jacket.

“hey,” he calls out to you from a few feet away, just loud enough to make you stir. “are you okay?” he watches as you take a long moment to wake, thinking you must be sick from laying in the cold and wet like this. you sit up groggily, rubbing your eyes, taking the time to stretch your arms up, yawning widely. “do you know what happened to my car?” he asks gruffly. and when he finally look him in the eyes and he hears the sound of your voice as you answer, he thinks he’s going crazy. it’s so odd but your eyes are like chevy headlights and your voice has this soothing, almost gravelly tone that reminds him of the rumbling of the impala’s engine.