Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just playing with Kripke's toys.

Spoilers till early season two (If you haven't seen that yet I feel sorry for you.)

A Trucker's Nightmare

I went to Jack's Place that night to get drunk. I had some money and I wanted the good stuff. In that days I couldn't sleep without being plastered. Technically I could sleep but not without the nightmares. Sometimes they even came to me when I knocked myself out with cheap booze.

That was why I went to Jack's Place as often as I could afford it. So it couldn't come to me. In my dreams. It. The car. The big, black, mean car.

And again I thought about the damn car. Even awake it haunted me.

I shrugged it off. Time for some alcohol.

I froze.

There it was. Right in front of Jack's Place. I stood there for a minute or two sure it was the car. It looked like it. Just like in my dreams. Like in my memory.

But it wasn't. It never was. You wouldn't believe how many cars just like that one are out there on the roads of the good old USA. It was a car not the car.

"She is a beauty, isn't she?" The voice startled me, pulled me out of my thoughts. Yeah, just like Christine was a beauty. I managed a short nod and glanced at the man who was apparently the owner of the car. A tall man, beaming at the admiration of his baby. He looked like a man calling his ride baby.

Behind him was an even taller man rolling his eyes. He was younger and I could picture him in one of those fancy new cars rich college boys owned. Not in an old muscle car. And surly not with a handsome hell-raiser as company. I wondered how they had end up together.

Why couldn't Shelly run away with a guy like Mr. Muscle Car? That I would have understood. Shelly had a thing for the slightly dangerous type. That was the reason she went out with me in the first place. Back in the days when I was younger and had a Harley and the spirit of adventure. When we – me and my Shelly – just hit the road, her arms around my waist, her body against mine and didn't come home for days. Twenty-seven years later she took of with a banker for god's sake.

A trucker or a biker, yeah I could have dealt with that. But a fucking banker?

There weren't any mornings in a warm bed next to my Shelly anymore. In these days I woke up on the couch with to many empty bottles around me and sometimes with my face in my own puke. And in my dreams there was the car.

"Dude, are you all right?" The second man asked. "You don't look so good."

"A car like this is haunting my dreams." The words were over my lips before I could even think about it. I headed for the entrance of the bar. I needed a drink. Badly. And I sure as hell didn't want to look at the car a second longer.

"How can a sweet ride like her haunt you?" Mr. Muscle Car stepped beside me, eying me closely.

"Dean." The other one hold him back and I got a few steps ahead.

"What? He said haunted."

"I'm sure he didn't mean haunted haunted." Whatever that meant.

They followed me inside. Strictly speaking Mr. Muscle Car – Dean – followed me and the other guy just followed him.

"I'll buy you a drink." Dean announced. His voice made clear no wasn't an answer. He wanted the story about the car. His companion glanced me an apologizing look while he shifted uncomfortable from one foot to the other.

I had talked about the car to psychiatrists for years. As long as I could afford them. I really didn't want to talk about it anymore. But money was tight and a free drink was a free drink.

After running into the car outside I needed as much hard stuff in my system as I could possibly get into it. In my head I could already hear the engine growl. The next few nights wouldn't be peaceful I knew that much.

We sat down at a corner table. Jack's Place wasn't crowded and here we got as much privacy as you can get in a bar. I would have liked my privacy only with beer and shots for company but the two men were serious. Mostly Mr. Muscle Car Dean, his fellow looked like he wished to be somewhere else.

Molly brought us our drinks. Not without eying my company closely well knowing that I got usually drunk alone.

"You want a story?" I took the shot and slammed the glass at the table. "OK, you get a story. My name is Mike Stevenson, a couple of years back I caused an accident. One man died, maybe a second one too. I don't know. And I can't get this fucking car out of my head. End of story." I grabbed the untouched shot in front of Dean's fellow – didn't know his name, didn't wanna know – and gulped it down. It burned it's way down my throat, warmth spreading into my stomach. It was a start but I needed more to get over the night. I waved with the glass in Molly's direction and she got the message. Another round appeared on the table. Her eyes made contact with Dean's for long seconds and maybe she slipped him her number. He smiled at her, eating her alive with his eyes. Hell, if he wanted to bang her between the dumpsters in the backyard I wasn't the man to stop him. Sooner he got out of my face the better.

"I'm sorry." Fellow said after Molly had finally left. He frowned. "You don't know if a second man died?"

Yeah, why should I get out the easy way? Damn, they had their story why couldn't they let me get drunk in peace? I sighed.

"After the accident I was in hospital for a few days. I wasn't injured but I was in shock. When I got out I wanted to see the people from the other car. Wanted to know how bad it was. Get the insurance stuff rolling and all that." I stopped. I hadn't talked about this stuff in a while. And never to people I met minutes ago.

"What happened then?" Fellow asked. His eyes filled with compassion as if he really cared about my fucked up life.

"They were gone." I said my voice barely a whisper. "They were just gone." I took another shot.

"What do you mean gone?" Dean shifted in his chair. He and Fellow glanced at each other.

"There were three people in the car." I didn't look at them, I just stared into my empty glass. "Apparently a father and his two sons. Maybe they were father and sons or maybe not, I can't tell. They used fake insurance. The father seemed fine, a broken arm and a little bruised. Got a gunshot in his leg, don't know where that came from." This time I clearly noticed the look they shared but I couldn't read it. "Anyway, father seemed fine and then BAMM dropped dead." I snipped my fingers.

Uncomfortable silence fell between us.

"Why do you think a second man died?" Dean asked his voice rough as if he had trouble holding back the tears. Yeah, as if a tough guy like him even now the word tears.

"One of the sons, I think the older one ..." I had to stop once again. "Well it didn't look good for him. They had to reanimate him once or twice. And then from one second to the other he was fine. Like a fucking miracle." I shook my head hearing the doctor's voice in my ear. "The docs weren't convinced he was really over it, but before they could run any test he and his brother busted out of the hospital. They took their father's body with them. Never to be seen again." I downed both of their untouched drinks. Finally I started to feel the alcohol.

"There I was. Feeling guilty as hell and had no way to make things right. I mean, they were most likely criminals with the gunshot and the fake insurance and all that, but I caused the accident. I fell asleep. It was my fault one of them died. I wanted to do the right thing. Take responsibility for my actions. But I had nothing to go with. No names. No address. Nothing. I even searched for the father's grave but I couldn't find it. Even the fucking car was towed into oblivion. That damn thing was totaled. Why would anybody take that piece of crap?"

"Hey." Dean started but was shut off by a well aimed elbow from Fellow. "But Sam ..."

Fellow – Sam – shook his head. "Don't." He glared at Dean who backed of. Then Sam looked me in the eye. His eyes shimmering as if he wanted to cry.

"It was not you fault." He said. Every word firm as if he wanted to hammer it into my skull. "I'm sorry you had to believe that for all those years but it was not you fault."

"What do you know, kid?" I said louder than I intended to. "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me that shit?" I felt blood rushing into my head. With the alcohol it wasn't a good combination. Picked up a fight more than once that way. I clenched my fists. Why couldn't they just leave?

"My name is Sam Winchester." He said ignoring the fact that I was going to explode. Maybe a punch in the face would shut him up. But then he said: "I was the driver."

I blinked. "You what?"

"I was driving the Impala. The car outside." He nodded towards the window. "My dad was in the passenger seat and my brother Dean" another short nod towards Dean. "was in the backseat behind me. We were hit by a semi."

I just stared at him.

"Is this a prank? Did Rob send you?" I was ready to throw punches. Who the hell did they think they were to mess with me like that?

"Dude, relax." Dean said but it just pushed me farther. One more word and he would get a fist in his damn mouth.

Sam named a date. His words washed my anger away like a bucket of ice water. Did I mention the date? I was pretty sure I didn't.

Dean added the name of the road.

"How …?"

"We were there." Sam said. The brothers shared a look before Sam spoke again. "We were already on our way to the hospital. Dean was messed up and Dad had a bullet in his leg." He looked so sad as if he had shot his dad himself. "The crash wasn't pretty but it did nothing more than to get us a few more bruises and my dad a broken arm."

"And you totaled my car." Dean added.

"Yeah, but Dean rebuild her just fine. Right, Dean?" Sam was clearly telling his brother to drop it.

"Just saying." He hold his hands up in surrender.

I looked from one to the other searching for a hint of anger or hate. But all I could find was compassion and a deep sadness. I had thought about this moment a lot. Pictured it in my dreams. I had always hoped to find them at the same time I had feared to finally face them. Now we sat there and it was like nothing I had ever imagined.

"Your dad ..." I didn't know how to asked the question.

This time it was Dean who answered. "It was his heart." He swallowed dryly though his voice remained steady. "He had a sick heart for years. It could have happened any time."

I sat there for minutes. They gave me the time to let the information sink in. The only thing they accused me was that I totaled their car? Their dad died in the hospital only two days after the crash and they didn't connect it? They didn't blame me?

"It was not your fault." Sam repeated.

A weight was lifted from my chest I didn't even know had been there. I breathed free for the first time in years. I didn't caused the death of a man. It wasn't my fault. I would have to repeat that a million times before I truly could believe it but it was a start.

"The car." I remembered. "I don't have much money ..." I was cut off before I even could offer the few dollars I had.

"Dude, we don't want your money." Dean interrupted me. "Besides, I think you suffered enough through the last years. Didn't you?"

I wanted to refuse I really did, but my wife came to mind; how I lost her, my job, my money, my friends. I thought about my cold and dark home, cheap booze and the nightmares.

I used to be a tough guy but right then I cried like a little girl. And I didn't feel ashamed of it. Molly and the other patrons surely watched me and I didn't care. Suddenly Sam was beside me his hand on my shoulder. I should have been embarrassed but all I could feel was relief.

We talked for a while. Mostly about cars I think but I can't really remember. Dean left me his number in case I needed to talk again. Or if I needed any kind of help and he really sounded as if he meant it.

I went home lighthearted and more sober than I had been in years. And I slept without nightmares.