All of his life Dean had scorned normal, mocked it, said that it was only for those who didn't know the truth, they were the people he had to protect, those were the people he helped save from the apocalypse. And he did his best to keep the apocalypse as quiet as possible so there wouldn't be questions, so there wouldn't be worry, so they wouldn't have to disturb their lives. Normal people didn't need to know how close they came to literal hell on earth. They needed to worry themselves with little things like working, paying bills, birthday parties, family squabbles, economy… little stuff like that. And now, he was stuck inside normal and for Dean Winchester hunter/vessel/brother/protector of the innocent, it was like being the blonde wearing the stiletto heels in the horror flick. The monster was coming after him and he was trying to run away, but only succeeded in falling on the ground and being torn to shreds.
Only the monsters in this horror movie looked innocent, and so like nothing that could ever harm anyone. They were everywhere, and they were undetectable by any means in Dean's arsenal. And they were sneaky monsters that knew how to throw you off your game, and leave you reeling. For Dean, it was like he was driving on the wide open road and these monsters were moving fast all around him, sometimes bumping into him, sometimes crashing into him so hard that it damaged his already bent frame to the point where he just wanted off of the road.
Wanting off of the road happened often and there were times that he felt the only way to get off the road was to crash into the nearest tree. And those were the times that he had the gun in his mouth, wanting to end it all, but the thought of going to hell and seeing Sam there, and the disappointed look that he would no doubt hold was enough to make him take the gun out of his mouth, keep the knife from his wrists, keep the sleeping pills capped and put in the duffel bag.
"You ready Dean?" Lisa asked keys in one hand, and purse on her shoulder.
"Sorry?" he asked shaking himself from his thoughts.
"You ready to go to the dealership?" The monsters were coming again, and the heels on his feet were six inches long and the mud was deep. "Dean?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure I'm ready." He said trying to affix a happy look to his face. However, Lisa saw straight through it, and felt bad for what she was encouraging him to do. At first, when he got the job at the construction site, she suggested that he sell the Impala because it was impractical, it guzzled gas, and it wasn't something he could take to the sites and not expect to get ruined. Dean simply stood there and looked as if she had asked him to cut off his foot. He said nothing. He simply walked away from her, walked out of the house, closed the door softly behind him, and took off. It didn't take long for worry to set in, she was beginning to love him, and when you love someone you worry, and when he didn't return within a couple of hours, and Ben started asking where he was she began calling him every fifteen minutes, he never answered, and she worried more. She ended up sitting on the couch with the phone in her lap waiting for it to ring when she heard the big engin's rumble as it came up the drive way, and shortly after Dean came inside.
"I can't." he said after she hugged him.
"I can't give up my car. It's…it's me and Sam. It'd be like asking you to give up your hope chest with all of Ben's stuff in it. You can't. And I can't do this. It's been my home. I can't let it go, I can't sell it."
And that was how they ended up here. The Impala was in retirement, in the garage, only to be used on special occasions, and they were going out to the car dealership and were going to get him something else, something more "normal".
Dean felt like another piece of him was being stripped away, and he felt as if he were being forced inside this box labeled normal, and the box was three sizes too small, and it was uncomfortable, it took away his power, it took away his spark, and it hurt in places that he didn't know existed.
But here he was, sitting in a small office that was too small for Lisa, him, and the rotund used car salesman that was sitting in front of them on his rolly chair looking pleased with himself that he had just sold a used overpriced Toyota truck to an apparent sucker. Dean wasn't a sucker, and he knew that truck wasn't worth the money or the piece of his soul he was giving away. But he signed the papers, each and every one of them, and then when they were done, they stood up, the guy congratulated him, and in passing Dean wondered what there was to be happy for, it wasn't the Impala, it wasn't even cool, but he said thank you all the same, took the keys, and followed Lisa out to the parking lot, and he drove his new truck all of the way back to Lisa's feeling like a traitor, feeling like an impostor.
Once home, Lisa pointed out every single wonderful thing about the truck and he gave her a ride at her insistence. He didn't understand what the big deal was, it was just a truck, it wasn't a classic, it wasn't a star. The star was sitting in the garage under a tarp, in retirement, just like he was supposed to be.
That night, after everyone was asleep, Dean snuck out into the garage, took the tarp off of his baby, slid into the seat, closed the door as quietly as she knew how, and reached under the bench seat and pulled out his bottle of jack. He took a swig and caressed the dashboard.
"Baby, normal is killing me." he whispered after a long moment. "I'm sorry." He said not knowing who exactly who he was apologizing to: himself, the car, or Sam. He took another drink, wishing away the sorrow, wishing that normal sat better with him, wishing that he wasn't such a freak, wishing that Sam was with him, wishing that they were out on the road the tires eating up the blacktop, going anywhere, being anywhere, being himself. Not this sham of a man who called himself Dean. Not being this sham of a man who was trying to be normal. He took another swig.