Reflection by JessicaRae

Spoilers: In My Time of Dying, Everybody Loves a Clown

Summary: S2Ep02 Tag. Little by little, he was fixing it. Tossing the damaged parts aside and starting new. With every fix he made, he rebuilt another wall.

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He had to finish fixing it.

He had to bring it back to its former self, back to what it should be.

He had to straighten the bends, mend the cracks. He had to correct the breaks and smooth out the dents. He had to find the right parts to fill the gaping holes. He had to buff away the pallid surface to reveal the shine hidden beneath. He had to restore it to its former glory, back to the fixture in their lives that kept them going and on the road to finding whatever it was they were truly looking for.

He had to fix it.

He just had to fix it, because when he fixed the Impala he fixed himself. Because right now the black car that was sprawled before him reflected everything he was feeling inside.

Broken.

Scattered.

Beaten.

Dean reached out and ran his fingers over the rear fender, the dust clinging to his fingertips and cutting four long trails across the surface. Dean felt every dent, every scratch and break. Most of all he felt the gaping hole of something that had been torn away from him, like the parts of the Impala that were damaged beyond repair and had to be replaced.

Dean’s missing part couldn’t be replaced. The void he felt in his chest would never be filled again. It couldn’t.

His father was dead.

Just the thought of those words caused his jaw to clench. His father was dead. John Winchester was dead. It was something he never thought could happen. He’d believed that if he had worked hard enough, that they would all be okay. They’d be a family again. Someday.

He was wrong.

Dean scowled and reached down for the tire iron lying at his feet, clenching his hand around it tightly. Dust billowed from the ground as he stepped toward the jack and kicked it under the car. He quickly jacked the car up and then kneeled in front of the ruined rear wheel. Some of the lug nuts were fused to their bolts and he grunted at the force he had to use to twist them off, reveling in the burn in his arms at the strain. It was something from the outside that he could feel. It wasn’t the suffocating ache that had settled inside his chest, surrounding the edges of that gaping hole that only seemed to be getting bigger instead of smaller.

Dean narrowed his eyes and just tore the last few nuts off, arms burning fiercely as the last one twisted off with a keening wail of metal. The nut itself was still hot from the friction as he tapped it out of the tire iron socket and onto the palm of his hand. His hazel eyes stared down at it before he tightly closed his fingers around it, feeling it burn his palm.

God… His dad was gone. He was gone. And he was never coming back.

A band suddenly circled his chest and squeezed. A sob caught in his throat, but Dean wouldn’t allow it to escape, clenching his jaw tightly as he raised his fist to his lips. He breathed harshly through his nose, eyes closed tight as he fought the grief that was rising up to choke him. God, he missed him. He missed him so much.

After a few seconds Dean took in a trembling breath and opened his eyes, lowering his arm as he slowly released the air he took in. He dropped the lug nut to the ground with the others and then gripped the damaged rim and tossed it behind him. He pushed himself up to his feet and grabbed the new wheel leaning against the Impala’s bumper, then rolled it to the bare hub. He went down on one knee and positioned the new wheel on the hub, sliding it onto the bolts. One by one, he picked up the lug nuts from the dusty ground and threaded them onto the bolts.

Dean’s movements were methodical and automatic as he continued to reign in his emotions, to rebuild the walls. He leaned back slightly and grabbed the tire iron from the dusty ground. He was about to start tightening the nuts, but found himself pausing. He glanced behind him at the contorted rim that he’d tossed aside, and then looked back to the new wheel before him.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly in a small, sad smile. Little by little, he was fixing it. Tossing the damaged parts aside and starting new. With every fix he made, he rebuilt another wall. With every part he replaced, he restored a part of himself.

Dean knew he’d never be the same again, but as far as everyone around him was concerned he’d be back to his old self. No one, especially Sam, needed to know that it was just a façade and that he really wasn’t okay, that he was hiding behind a false front to conceal the parts of himself that he couldn’t fix. Just as a new coat of jet black paint would cover up the Impala’s scratches and dents that he couldn’t quite work out.

As sure as a reflection of himself, the Impala was a part of him. She was destroyed by the demon and almost declared unsalvageable, just as Dean was torn from the inside out by the demon and almost declared dead. But they had both survived, and both by means neither of them could ever hope to understand. Dean had no idea how he had escaped a reaper for the second time, and he had no idea how Bobby had managed to straighten the Impala’s frame.

Shaking his head slightly, Dean went back to work and started tightening the lug nuts. He was just coming to the last two when he heard footsteps, the dusty gravel crunching under his visitor’s feet.

Sammy.

Dean only paused a second, then finished tightening the lug nuts. He glanced up at Sam as he walked past him, his little brother stopping at the Impala’s trunk. Dean prepared himself for another fight, something they had been doing a lot of lately. He really didn’t want to deal with this now.

“You were right.”

The words were spoken with such a sense of defeat that Dean mentally flinched. He certainly wasn’t expecting that.

Dean dropped the tire iron to the ground and stood up, walking around his brother. He kept his voice level when he spoke, “About what?”

“About me and Dad.”

Dean grabbed a piece of scrap that was leaning against the Impala’s bumper and tossed it aside. He didn’t know what to say in response to Sam, so he did what he’d been doing a lot lately and stayed silent.

Sam continued without prompting. It was clear to Dean that Sam had come to him to talk and his silence wasn’t going to stop his little brother from doing just that.

“I’m sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know he died thinking that I hated him.”

Dean stood frozen. He should say something. He wanted to talk to his little brother, to tell him it wasn’t true, but he found he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t do anything, but stand there. He felt his newly rebuilt walls starting to crack.

“So, you’re right. What I’m doing right now is too little… It’s too late.”

Oh, God. Dean had regretted those words the second they’d left his lips. The pain he had invoked in his little brother’s eyes had torn him apart. He’d give anything to take them back, especially now that it seemed his brother was agreeing with him.

“I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not all right… Not at all.”

Dean could hear the tears in Sam’s voice, even without the sight of them pooling in his little brother’s eyes. God, why couldn’t he say anything? He could feel his own eyes burning and it took all his effort just to choke the tears back. Dean felt his walls crack even more.

“But neither are you.”

Outwardly Dean stayed frozen, but inside those words shattered everything he had built up the last few days. His painstakingly rebuilt walls lay broken at his feet.

“I’ll let you get back to work.”

Dean heard Sam’s parting words through a tunnel. He barely acknowledged his brother leaving. He stood there, still frozen. Slowly, he forced himself to move.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

He turned, approaching one of the wrecked cars behind him. He looked down and saw the crowbar and picked it up. He gripped it, felt the weight of it in his hand. He turned and stared at the Impala, then spun around and shattered the wreck’s window, the glass exploding all around him.

He thought that was going to be enough, but then he stared at the Impala before him. He took it in and saw all the work he had done to make it what it currently was before him. It was supposed to be the reflection of him. It was supposed to be his outlet. What he saw in it, he was seeing in himself.

It looked wrong.

It didn’t look like him at all.

Both of his hands gripped the crowbar and he swung. Over and over, harder and harder he pounded the Impala’s trunk. It began to cave under the onslaught, but it still wasn’t enough. He hit it harder, gasps of pain escaping his clenched teeth as he felt the grief and anger consume him.

Only when his arms failed and the crowbar fell from his numb hands did he stop, falling against the Impala to keep himself on his feet. He pushed off and turned away, out of breath and arms leaden.

He slowly turned back and took in the damage he had done to the Impala, the gaping hole that seemed to sink down into the trunk; it was a void, dark and empty. Painful.

Now it looked right.

Now it once again reflected him, was a part of him.

He had fixed it.

The End.

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