AUTHOR'S NOTES: I like the episode 'Everybody Loves a Clown' for two main reasons—the introduction of Ellen and Jo and the end of the episode where Dean wails on the Impala. There's so much raw emotion in that scene and I really wanted to include it in this story, especially what it must have been like for the Impala.

As for the end of this chapter, I thought it strange that Dean looses it at the end of 'ELaC' and at the start of the next episode, he's fine again. Sorry—not buying it.

Chapter 7


Let me make one thing perfectly clear—cars DO feel pain.

Every scratch and dent is felt just like humans feel cuts and bruises.

Of course as I sat in the yard behind Bobby Singer's house, I knew I wasn't the only one in pain.

Dean had been working on me from dusk till dawn ever since he got out of the hospital and every second he spent with me I could feel the pain and anger radiating off of him especially when Sam came out to check on his brother.

Something happened in the hospital—that much was clear. And I knew it had something to do with John's death.

Damnit, if John wasn't already dead, I'd have killed him myself. And even though I wanted so badly to tell my boys the truth about John's deal, I knew that it would devastate them.

And right now the boys had enough to deal with. Sam's guilt at not killing Yellow Eyes was eating him alive—not to mention the fact that Sam had picked a fight with his father right before the old man's death.

I had no idea what was going through Dean's mind. He didn't talk to anyone, least of all me. He was out working on fixing me the second the sun started rising and didn't quit until well after dark when Bobby would drag the poor kid inside to get some sleep.

Night of course, was when Sam would come out to talk to me. He would sit on the ground, back up against one of my wheels and either talk or just spend an hour or so crying before going for a walk around the scrap yard until his eyes didn't look so red.

Of course, the boys couldn't just sit around waiting until I was fixed. About a week after being at Bobby's, Sam and Dean headed out to check up on a lead on… something.

That left me and Bobby alone for a couple days.

Right after the boys headed out, Bobby came up to me, giving me a smile as he said, "You're not gonna try and eat me this time around, are ya?"

No, Bobby, not this time, I thought, wearily. I was too tired and hurting too much to really fight with the man. All I wanted was to feel like my old self again.


I was starting to be in decent shape when the boys got back from their hunt.

Bobby couldn't do too much work on me since he had other cars to work on as well as other hunters to help out.

And while I'd been hoping that the hunt would give Dean a chance to mellow out, I wasn't surprised when he was still as stressed out and high strung as before.

When I saw Dean grab the tire iron, I braced myself for the blow. Sam had walked away after calling his brother out on lying about being okay and I knew Dean well enough that he was desperate to wail on someone or something.

He swung the tire iron and smashed the window of the car next to me before taking a swing at my trunk.

The look of anger and pain on Dean's face broke my heart and I could read his thoughts as clearly as if he was yelling them out loud.

He hated Yellow Eyes for taking both his parents!

He hated John for dying and leaving Sam and Dean alone in the fight—not to mention that goddamn promise to save Sammy or kill him!

He hated Ellen Harvelle for being so nice and making him miss his parents even more!

He hated Jo for trying to make him feel better!

He hated Ash for not having any immediate answers!

He hated Bobby for being more like a real father than John!

He hated Sam for not killing the demon when he had the chance!

And more than anything, Dean hated himself for not saving his father and for not telling Sam about what their dad had said before he died.

By now there was a sizable hole in my trunk and tears were streaming down Dean's face which was a mask of pain and rage. I wanted more than anything to be human again—to hold Dean close and comfort him. It hurt me more than anything to see one of my boys so torn up.

And then he started hitting me with his bare hands. He hit my frame over and over, screaming as he did so.

I wanted Bobby or Sam to come out and help Dean but it was actually almost 5 minutes before both came running. Dean was on the ground and I felt a rush of panic when I saw that he was having trouble breathing and his hands were bloody.

Bobby looked from Dean's hands to the blood smeared on my frame and quickly signaled Sam to help get Dean up.

I watched as the three hurried off and wondered if Dean would ever be alright again.

(Non-Impala POV)

Sam had spent too much time watching his brother lying in a hospital bed. Most of the time, it had been because some fugly bastard had beaten Dean up but a few times it had been something more mundane—Like the time Dean had had food poisoning and hadn't been able to stop throwing up.

John had taken Dean to the hospital and the nurses had admitted Dean for almost a week due to fever and dehydration.

This time felt even worse, though, than two weeks earlier.

Dean's left hand now bore 20 stitches and was wrapped in a clean bandage. His right hand and two middle fingers, however, was in a cast due to the two fingers being broken along with a bad sprain of the hand in question.

The upside, though, was that the doctors had sedated Dean. They believed that Dean had lashed out in grief after his father's death and all he needed was sleep and grief counseling.

Sam scoffed to himself as he recalled the doctor's words. Yeah, like talking about what had happened would solve everything. As much as he hated to these days, Sam hated his father right now. John Winchester had always insisted on keeping emotions in check and not talking about what was bothering you.

And that attitude was part of the reason Dean was now unconscious and drugged to the gills in the hospital.

But much as he wanted to say something Sam couldn't think of the words to articulate how he felt.

All he could do was sit next to his brother's bed and hope when he woke up, he'd be ready to talk.