"Sam?" Dean walked in rubbing his eyes, his hair as messy as one-inch-long hair could be "Come on. Turn that thing off. You need some rest."

"I tried. Can't sleep. What about you?"

"Just woke up. Friggin' nightmare"

Sam made a small sympathetic nod, but said nothing and kept typing on his laptop. He knew better than anyone that there were some things you don't talk about, because if you let them loose they would eat you alive. You just push them down and try to ignore them. Well, maybe Dean pushed too many things down, but he was wise enough to talk about things when it really was necessary. Sam had stopped trying to be touchy-feely. At last he had learnt the hard way what Dean had tried to explain him for years, he thought with a bitter smirk at the screen in front of him.

In the meanwhile Dean had taken a bottle of water from the little fridge on the corner, and was now staring out the windows of that skimpy motel room. They'd had to leave their hom- no, their refuge, to go investigate in Amarillo. Some lunatic had had the fantastic idea to start killing people at the local Comic con.

He didn't even know what a comic-con was before Sam explained it to him. From what he understood, it was a place where people met to talk about books, animes, mangas, films and often dress up as their favourite characters. Dean couldn't help but smile thinking about how many chicks wearing super short skirts there might be there. Maybe cospay- cospatti- dressed as some Asian school girl, or Sailor Moon, or whatever anime was cool now. He could show them the moon, if they wanted to. Ok, lame joke, even for him.

"Any news?" Dean asked.

"Nope. Nothing. All we know is what thay told us today."

Yeah, and that meant they had no clues. The witnesses said a guy dressed in black and orange sweatsuit had come out of nowhere and killed a couple of persons. Nail in the head, but he had no nail gun with him, and then just disappeared in the crowd. No hex bags, no sulfur smell. And with so much people all together, there were no clues left. Damn. He needed some beer.

"Sammy, I'm going to the 7/11 two blocks down. Need something?"

"No… no, thanks." Sam answered, without moving his eyes from the screen.

The elder took the keys of his beloved Impala and closed the door behind him. The store was just two blocks away, that was true, but he really needed to drive for a while to calm his nerves and nothing relaxed him like being behind the wheel of his beloved Impala.

He could already see her from the stairs. His babe. He passed an hand on her side as he reached the driver seat, but he immediately frowned when he touched the green coagulated glob he had found on her when he had come back to the parking lot of the comic-con that afternoon. He had tried to scrub it with a wet rag, but it had been all to no avail: it had already dried up, and it looked like resin or something, so it was possible the only solution was to scrape it off, and that meant scratching the paint underneath it too. He was gonna kick the ass of the douche that had done that to her. If he ever found him. Mood even worse than before, he let the sound of the engine lull him on the short way to the shop and tried to think positive. Beer. He could use beer, and some pie, too. And cleanser for his Chevy. Maybe with the right product the spot would go away.

Once he got to the shop, he mindlessly picked all that stuff in a flash, and dropped his spoil on the register. The cashier, whose face that was the emblem of boredom, checked everything with glassy eyes and gave him the bill without saying a word.

He'd just put the last dollar back into the wallet when a girl stormed into the store. She had long red hair, a black leather jacket and grey skinny jeans. Really pretty, he must say. And she was heading towards him with the most furious glare he had ever seen.

"YOU!" she yelled, jabbing at his cheek. "GIGANTIC-" she punched his jaw. "ASSHOLE!" she kicked him in the stomach, making him lose balance and fall on the ground.

He looked at her, eyes wide, and didn't even try to get up. It wasn't the pain - damn, he'd had a lot worse, a couple of punches were just routine for him… even if the girl knew what she was doing. He was just immensely stunned.

"What the hell, girl-"

"Don't call me girl!" She barked.

"Ok, calm down. What the hell's up with you?"

"What's up with me? What the hell was down me, you mean!"

"WHAT?!"

After a couple of seconds of transition from his complete apathy, at the scent of danger the owner of the shop reacted, demonstrating he didn't appreciate surprises at all. "What do you think you're doing? I want no drama in here Go fight about your goddamn problems out of here!"

Dean glimpsed at the half-hidden shotgun under the register and tried to be the reasonable one for once. "You heard him. Let's get the hell out of here."

'This is the weirdest thing that ever happened to me, I swear' Dean thought, while both the shopkeeper and that crazy girl glared at him. Thank God, at last she chose to do as he suggested, getting out of the door without a word with Dean closely behind.

And then he saw it, and dropped his grocery bag turning white as a sheet. Well, he didn't see it, that was the problem. His Impala. His beloved Impala wasn't where he left it.

"Oh, come on! You can't have an heart attack. I've got to kick your ass first."

"Excuse me? I don't care what the hell you think I did to you, someone just stole my goddamn car!"

"Nope."

"What do you mean 'nope?' Where the hell is it? And why are you- hmpfff" The girl must have gone completely nuts, because she was kissing him. And that wasn't simply a little peck on the lips. It was a big, long, fat kiss on the mouth. Once again, he had no clue on what the hell was going on. She couldn't even have been a chick he slept with because 1) he had never been in Amarillo before and 2) he'd surely have remembered a girl with a chassis like that. Still breathless, he limited himself to simply staring at her, wide eyed.

"That was for rebuilding me, by the way." She said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "But did you really had to put those goddamn Legos back in my vent? I was fucking choking! In the middle of a parking lot, at 3 in the morning! I could have died!" she shouted, swiftly getting angry again. She took out a bunch of Lego bricks from her pocket and threw them at him. The man shielded his face with an arm just in time to avoid getting hit.

Patience had never been one of Dean's greatest virtues and he'd just reached his boiling point. "LEGOS DOWN YOUR VENT? ARE YOU COMPLETELY BONKERS?"

"God, I don't understand how you're still alive… I am your fucking Impala!"

He just stared at her for three whole seconds. Then he responded "My Impala." He chuckled. "Is this a joke, or what?"

She covered his face with both hands, as to try not to lose it completely, and passed her fingers through her hair. "Dammit, you're lucky you're that pretty, I don't know how'd you survive instead" she grimaced. She shifted all her weight on her right leg and unzipped her left boot, taking out of it a plastic soldier. 'She had a friggin' plastic soldier in her leather high-heeled boot. Why would someone put a plastic soldier in her shoe?' For Dean, that was the last straw. He put a hand in his pocket to take his cellphone out and call a good nuthouse for that basket case but… he realized the only that was there were his keys.

They were in the Impala. Every one of his mobile phones were in his Impala. Fuck. And so was their whole arsenal too, and all of his tapes. He wasn't a guy that panicked easily, but he was really starting to get upset.

"Woah kiddo, I said no heart attacks! Here you are." She threw him something. In the dim light coming from the street lamp it was hard to say what that was, but Dean instinctively caught it on the fly.

It was his phone. She had thrown his phone to him. He simply was stunned; if he didn't stop doing that, his eyes would probably pop out by the end of the night. She glanced back at him, then set her sight on a bush near them. Before he could do or say anything, she reached it and came back with the duffle bag they kept into their trunk on one shoulder, and the box with all his tapes under the other arm. The bag looked like it was about to explode. She nonchalantly handed him all his possessions, and he quickly snatched it out of her hands to control if everything was there.

'Redhead' didn't seem annoyed by his abruptness. She just went back to the bushes to pull out half a dozen car plates. She silently watched him as he finished to examine weapons and cassettes, and then she handed them to him. "These are yours, too. Thank God you threw the original one away ages ago, or else I would probably have a big tattoo on the forehead by now. That would be a little difficult to hide."

Dean glared at her.

"Oh, come on! One would think you'd be able recognize you baby."

He couldn't even start to formulate the question that just formed into his mind - how the hell did she know he called his baby Baby? - that she had already took her jacket and shirt off.

His mind wandered off, a grin plastered on his face. He liked how things where turning. The girl saw his suddenly-eager expression and rolled her eyes. "Dean, no. Just look."

"Yeah, I am looking. It's the first time a girl is this origin-"

"No, I mean look." She said, as she shifted her bra a little bit, revealing some big scars. Letter-shaped scars he knew really well. 'S.W.' and 'D.W.'

"What the hell-"

"For God's sake Dean!" She huffed, exasperated. She turned her back on him and lowered her jeans a little to show him some red marks she had on her lower back. Dean kneeled down, and this time the disbelief was so much that he didn't even think about checking her rear, that was only few inches from his face.

That was a devil trap. A devil trap identical in every single detail to the one he had drawn inside the trunk of the Impala. There was no doubt, even was the minuscule half-fingerprint he'd made by mistake was there, near the right corner of the symbol. One of the many times he'd had to fix his Impala and re-draw the trap, he'd tried if the paint was dry, but he'd discovered his hands were dirty too late. When he'd noticed the print of his thumb had left on the liftgate the swears he'd let out were so creative Sam had come check if something was wrong. The fingerprint wasn't part of the sign of course, and nobody but him, Sam and Bobby had ever been allowed to open their trunk and see it. It wasn't someone any of his old flame, any demon, or angel could possibly know even Castiel. But then…

Th girl had put her clothes back, and was now staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Judging from your face you're starting to believe, huh? Finally. Now gimme those tapes, I'll help you carry them back to the motel."

He handed over the box as he was told, but he still was highly suspicious. She placed the plates on top of it, and whistled as she headed towards the motel. She had took the right direction, he registered. Hanging the duffle bag on one shoulder and picked up his grocery shopping from the ground where he had dropped it. He was lucky he had chosen cans instead of bottles, because he really needed some beer now. He opened one, and rushed to catch up with her, who had kept walking.

"Hey, now you won't even offer me a drink?" Dean shot her a dirty look, but he handed her a can. She managed to open it with her free hand and took a big gulp. "Aaaah. Now I understand why you guys drink this stuff all the times. I haven't had one since that time an old man crossed the street with red lights and your takeaway food went all over my seats. It only was sticky back then, but, you know, now I have taste buds."

"So you insist claiming you're my car."

"Of course I do, it's because I am. Or should I tell Sam about that time you took one of you Busty Asian magazines and-"

Dean hastened to stop her nad blurted out a "Okay, okay. I got it. You're my baby."

"Damn right I am."

"Shouldn't you be older? Like, in your forties? You know, '67 Chevrolet Impala."

"Probably. But I got destroyed and rebuilt so many times... I suppose that counts as having plastic surgery."

"Yeah, it makes sense. Kind of."

"Listen, I'm as confused as you are. All I know is that I woke up in that freaking parking lot with a bunch of Legos stuck down my throat, a damn plastic soldier in my shoe and these" she grabbed her boobs "that won't stop bouncing. I'm supposed to be made of iron. No bouncing parts. I don't like having bouncing parts."

"I beg to disagree" Dean said with his best flirting smirk.

"Shut up, idiot. I'm 46, and your parents conceived both you and Sam on my back seats."

"Gross!"

"Yeah, exactly. Now let me finish my story and then you can say all the stupid things you want. I was choking but I managed to put a finger in my throat and vomit, and lucky enough all the bricks came out. You, instead, are lucky I'm fond of your tapes, or I'd have already thrown them as revenge. Just wait until I put these down-"

"Hey, I'm sorry, ok? It's not like one expects his car to take life, you know? I didn't do that on purpose" he admitted sheepishly.

"Hmmm... Fair enough." She decided, taking another sip of beer.

Dean, on the other hand, couldn't keep his eyes off her. "My baby." He smiled. "I knew you'd be smoking hot, but you're even better than I imagined you"

She snorted and scowled at him.

"It's not that weird."

"Imagining how your car would be if she took human form? Yes it is. But you're you, so I'm not surprised."

"Hey!"

"And anyway" she added, an affectionate smile on her lips "I practically raised you. I know you. You always pick on Sam for the hell of it, but you're a little strange too. It's not the weirdest thing you've done."

He gazed at a suddenly interesting spot in front of him, trying to feign self-confidence as they entered the motel's parking lot. He had gone out saying he'd buy some beer, and he was coming back a whole hour after with no car and a hot chick among his suite... How would he explain that to Sam?