All My Best Memories With You
Summary: Dean may be gone but the memory of him lives on in the moments spent with the ones he loved the most in Baby.
How many miles do you think Dean’s Impala has under her belt? It’s hard to truly calculate. She’s been across the country and back again more times than anyone could probably count. He even somehow managed to get her to Alaska. Don’t ask me how he pulled that one off, but he did. Maybe if your feeling lucky, sit him down with a glass of that strong amber colored whiskey and he’ll pull out a map and pencil, start crunching the numbers. Tracing all the backroads and highways he’s took her through.
But that’s not really the point of this.
Because we know Dean has a bond with his car that goes beyond the metal, vinyl, and chrome. Baby held his life in her frame. She carried every version of him, little Dean sitting in the front seat with John, tired eyes trying their best to stay open on the long hauls. Teenage Dean gripping the wheel for the first time , sly smile on his face , thinking about the day he will finally get to take her out on his own. Hunter Dean covered in blood and grime, sometimes barely holding on until he can get to the next rest stop to patch up his wounds. Even a softer version of him, only those closest to him ever really got to see. And the people who loved and who knew him best, they understood that. Their memories of Dean are tied to that car too.
Jody remembers the practical things first. Dean and Sam showing up on a random day of the week, the rumble of the engine in her driveway. She’d remember Dean sliding out of the driver’s side, waltzing up trying to act tougher than he felt but she’d see the tired look in both of their eyes. They were grown men but underneath it all they were her boys. She’d usher him in along with Sam giving them a tight hug and making them a coffee or a hot meal. They’d talk for hours on end , catch up, and for a moment forget that their lives were sometimes covered in muck and blood. When the day was done she’d see them out , Dean promising to stop by again soon, a brighter smile on his face as he and Sam left her front porch and shed wave goodbye to them as she watched the Imapala drive away. She loved seeing that car in her driveway if she was honest, because it meant the boys were safe and alive. It meant backup. It meant she wasn’t alone.
Claire would remember Dean in the impala as an infuriating ‘old man’ but dependable. The kind of dependable in a way you don’t appreciate until later. She’d remember his lectures from the front seat, all gruff and edged with concerned, masked as annoyance. His hands would be tight on the wheel as he lectured her about something reckless, she did on a hunt. On the outside it was infuriating but she began to realize that it mattered to her more than she realized back then. It was because Dean always showed up when it mattered. To Claire the Impala was proof that even when Dean was gruff and annoying, even when he didn’t know how to say the right things, he still showed up, every time.
Garth remembers how sacred that car was to Dean. He’d probably joke that getting into the Impala felt like entering church where the gospel was classic rock and the saints were all heavily armed. But Garth understood it more than most. He’d remember how Deans whole face changed behind the wheel, how it calmed him, centered him, make him feel like himself. Garth knew that Baby was Deans safe place before he ever really had one.
Jack would remember all the lessons he learned from Dean. He’d remember him teaching him things from the front seat, not always patiently but in a way that Dean only knew how to show that he cared. He’d remember the music, the old box of tapes. Deans hand drumming on the steering wheel, the rules about no food. But one of his most cherished memories is the day Dean taught him how to drive. He was so nervous that day, white knuckling the steering wheel and riding the brakes. But when he finally got it, the way he drove Baby smoothly down that endless highway, glancing over at Dean who acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but the pride on his face told a different story. It was one of the best days of his human life.
Castiel would remember the strangeness of how much meaning one human could pour into an object. He didn’t understand it at first but over time, he would. The impala was where Castiel saw some of Deans most human moments, the exhaustion, the passion, the stubborn hope, and the unwillingness to give up on the people he loved. He remembers riding shotgun once, a quiet early evening, the sun setting on the horizon, his favorite tape in the deck and looking over at Dean. Understanding that this was as close to peace he ever got.
Sam would remember everything.
He’d remember being a kid, curled up in the backseat, half asleep while Dean tucked a blanket around him. He’d remember the motel parking lots, bruised knuckles on the steering wheel, arguments that always ended in silence. He’d remember the laughter too, dumb jokes, singing along to old songs, the way Dean always looked most like himself behind the wheel. He remembers every long haul with his big brother, all the roads and state lines they traveled across. He could sit you down and tell you exactly how many miles Baby had because every one of them he was there. He was so grateful to have been there.
And that’s what makes the thought of one last ride hurt so much.
Because it’s the pieces of Dean left behind in that car, worn seats, the box of tapes, the fingerprint on the steering wheel, the ghost of his laughter. The way everyone who ever loved him could climb into Baby, close the door, and find some version of him still there.
Like he never really left.
