"I can't believe the car is still going after forty years," John said. The Impala's hood was open and he and Dean were inspecting the engine.

"Especially after everything we've put her through."

"Takes a licking and keeps on ticking?"

"Yeah, something like that," Dean said. He didn't want to tell John too much about everything that the car - or he and Sam - had been through. He was just thinking of how to keep John from wanting to look in the trunk when he heard Sam coming back to the parking area.

"I'm going to rip his wings off!"

"Feathers giving you trouble, too?" John asked him.

"Feathers - hmpf," Sam grumbled. "He's a douche."

John's expression went from slightly amused to completely horrified in an instant. "Sam - language."

Sam's expression went from completely angry to totally confused and he looked from John to Dean, who shrugged.

"He used that one on me, too. So - Balthazar paid you a little visit? Let me guess - he told you exactly squat."

"He didn't even tell me that much," Sam said. "I mean, if we're here to save a life, why doesn't he tell us whose life? Why? How? Something?"

"Balthazar?" John asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "The angel. He didn't tell you his name?"

"No, he didn't say and I didn't ask. He told me my boys needed my help and I was in. Other than that, he didn't seem particularly chatty."

"Well then, that's gotta be a first," Dean said. "Balthazar usually does nothing but talk."

"So, you've dealt with him before today?" John asked.

"A few times," Sam said.

"I've never known him to be interested in anybody but himself, though," Dean added. "So this has got to be something important."

"Or he's jerking us around."

"Are you feeling better?" John asked Sam. Dean gave a fast, searching look to Sam, but he didn't look any different than he did lately; a little pale, a little pinched, a little worn down.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm - yeah," Sam said. He walked closer to Dean and asked him, "So, what's our next step?"

"Got me. If Balthazar isn't going to give us even Hint One what this is about – "

Suddenly, the roar of a dozen of motorcycles rumbling down the interstate drowned out the rest of what Dean was going to say. A second after they drove past, they were back, pulling an illegal U-turn and roaring into the rest stop, stopping ten yards from the Impala.

The head biker wore mirrored sunglasses and a helmet with a lethal looking spike sprouting out the top. The sleeves of his leather jacket had been ripped off and his arms were all muscle and tattoos. He flicked the kickstand into place with his boot heel then stood up and walked toward them like he had all the time in the world.

And every last biker behind him followed.

"All right," John said. "I'll take care of this. You boys stay at the car."

Dean and Sam exchanged confused looks. "Uhhh – " Dean said. "Technically, we are older than you."

John turned back and gave them Dad's patented 'you're questioning me?' look. "Technically, I don't care. Stay at the car."

Dean and Sam shook their heads and followed him anyway.

"Help you?" John asked, when he and the head biker had stopped, toe to toe. Biker Dude was only as tall but twice as wide as John. He pulled his mirrored sunglasses off and glared at John out of one good eye. The other eye was pulled into an asterisk by a raw, red, recent scar. He tilted his chin up, in the direction of the car.

"That a '67?" he asked, and though his voice was full of smoke and gravel, he sounded awestruck.

"Yeah, it is," John answered.

"Can I see her?"

Biker Dude had referred to the car as "her", so he got points in Dean's book. Not in John's apparently who took a deep breath before asking, "Why?"

"My brother used to talk about the '67. He said he was gonna get one when he got home from 'Nam, but he never… Anyway, I never seen one close up before."

John softened. "Your brother served?"

"Joined up right out of high school. Got rid of all that hippie hair and beads and baggy clothes. Made himself a Marine." He smiled, but it didn't last. "He died in seventy-five. April 27th, seventy-five."

"Damn," John breathed out. "Just before Saigon."

"Yep."

"Damn. Damn, I'm sorry."

"We got him home, leastways. Lots of folks never had nothing to bury. Least we had that."

"Yeah, at least you had that, " John echoed. He gestured to the car. "C'mon, have a look."

The two of them walked to the car but the other bikers kept a respectful distance. Biker Dude walked around her, trailing a hand along her fenders and roof and leaning over the engine.

"She's a beaut," he finally said. "I can see what Eddie was always so het up about. He never would shut up about the thing. He could quote chapter and verse of every little detail. Favorite thing he said was she could purr like a kitten or roar like a lion, whatever you needed her to do."

"Eddie sounds like a good guy," John said.

"He was. He really was."

"I'm John, by the way." John offered his hand and gestured over his shoulder. "My boys."

Dean wondered what Biker Dude's reaction would be to them being called John's boys, but he only said, "Name's Evard," and gestured over his own shoulder to the men waiting for him. "Those are my boys." He shook John's hand. "I 'preciate giving me the look at her. 'Preciate –" He broke off there and pumped John's hand a few more times. He swallowed hard. "See y'around again sometime."

He turned away and in a few minutes the bikers had roared back to the interstate and were gone.

tbc