Time, as the good Doctor has told us, is not a straight line, but more like a ball of wibbly wobbly... timey... er, wimey stuff.
This is not a Doctor Who crossover story.
Once upon the 1970s, a former marine was in love with the daughter of a family of hunters. To start their new life together, he set out to buy a vehicle. This is the story of that vehicle.
No, not the '67 Impala.
Really, it isn't.
John Winchester admired the black muscle car, but he and Mary wanted a houseful of kids. The 1964 Volkswagen van was much more practical, no matter what that creep in the really cool leather jacket said. "If you like it that much, you buy it," John told him and clinched the deal for the van.
Mary was thrilled. Later that night, they renewed their pledge of love in the spacious back compartment. "We could, like, put a mattress back here, John. Have a road trip honeymoon," Mary cooed.
It was a great idea, and a dream to follow that led them away from the tragedy of her parents' deaths. They left Lawrence, Kansas, without a backwards glance to tour the back roads of middle America. Dean Michael Winchester was conceived on a 1969 Simmons Beautyrest. Fittingly, he later lost his virginity on that self-same mattress.
For all events turned out as they must: the demon, the fire, the quest for revenge, the shaping of children into hunters. Sometimes they lived in the van for weeks at a time, with great savings in motel and apartment rentals. John made several cunning hidden caches in the interior paneling.
But time took its toll. The faithful van crumpled like a stale loaf of Wonder Bread when T-boned by a demon driving a '67 Impala. American and German steel tangled to became John Winchester's tomb.
Dean was heartbroken. The crash showed just how rusty the body of his beloved van had become. Even the Beautyrest was mostly burned up. He stared at the union of the two old vehicles, and slowly, an idea bloomed in his mind.
At last he displayed the fruits of his labor to Sam.
"Dean, that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen on four wheels."
Dean looked hurt. He patted the black steel reinforced sides of the van. "Don't listen to him, baby. I've tricked you out just like the Punisher's War Wagon. Evil's going down."
"Dean. I am not riding around in that thing."
"Two words, Sammy. Two words." He grinned triumphantly. "Leg room."
He almost had Sammy sold. "Ok, two more words. New mattress." Dean waggled his eyebrows.
"... you know, I bet we could fit a California King in there."
What the two brothers did in the back of their van was not Bobby Singer's business, but he had just one request: "For Pete's sake, don't tell anyone you built that damn thing in my salvage yard!"
And so the van lumbered on down that highway to hell-
-carrying John Winchester's wayward sons-
"Oh my god."
-towards their destiny.
"Fuck my life."