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Gunna Wash That Darkness Right Off'a My Car

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Dean left Sam in the bunker library, scouring the shelves for answers on what the hell The Darkness was and how the hell they stop whatever it is.

He walked through the halls, winding his way to the back of the building, toward the garage entrance. He grabbed himself a large bucket, and his car cleaning kit – stocked with everything he needed to keep his Baby gleaming - a new chamois, the hand-vac and the tiny brush he used to get into the smallest grooves of his pride and joy’s body.

Throwing everything in a bag, he tossed it over his shoulder, walked back to the kitchen and filled the bucket with warm, soapy water. Lugging it up the stairs to the bunker door, he tried unsuccessfully, not to splash the water everywhere.

Outside, the Impala was parked up and waiting for him, her paint covered in black grime, her chrome dull and muddy, her windows smeared with muck. Dean shook his head angrily. The Darkness had made one hell of an enemy in Dean Winchester for what it’d done to her. Dean practically snarled thinking about it.

It was a hot day. The sun shone down and the breeze had a warmth to it. Dean opened the Impala door, put the key in the ignition and turned on the radio, surfing until he found a classic rock station. “Fortunate Son” filled the air as Dean rolled up his sleeves, soaked the sponge in the water and got to work.


Dean didn’t mind cleaning the car; it was a time where he could block out the world. He found it peaceful. He found it relaxing. He took pride in keeping his girl spotless, her glossy, black body so highly polished he could see his face in it.


He’d been working for over an hour, slowly rubbing away the sticky black muck, almost caressing the paint with large, sweeping, circular motions.

He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt and suds. Walking over to the cooler, he grabbed a beer and closed the lid, dropping down on it to survey his progress. He’d pretty much got one side gunk free. He figured he had at least 3 more hours ahead of him – just to get her back to her paint.

He sighed a deep sigh, stood up, cracked his neck and flicked away a bead of moisture that threatened to drip into his eye. Setting his beer down, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the ground. The t-shirt he wore underneath, was stuck to his body with sweat. He grabbed the sponge and got back to work.


After a couple more hours and a couple more beers, Dean had pretty much got most of Baby’s body Darkness free. He grabbed the bucket and sponge and headed back into the bunker for some fresh water. Leaving the bucket in the kitchen, he went to check on Sam.

Sam was at the library table a pile of books cast onto the floor and several sprawled across the surface in front of him.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up, lost in his thoughts. “Huh? Oh, no. Nothing. I can’t find any reference to The Darkness in any of the Men of Letters files. I’m seeing if any of the religious texts have anything.”

Dean nodded. “Okay”

“How’s it going?” Sam asked

“Slowly. But she’s looking better.”

Sam nodded, “You on the other hand…”

Dean looked down, he was covered in dirt and was pretty much wet from head to toe. He shrugged. “Yeah, well. I better get back to it. Keep looking, Sammy.” he said over his shoulder as headed out of the room.


Dean squinted at the sky. By now the sun was beating down and Dean couldn’t tell any longer if it was water or sweat that he was drenched in. His t-shirt clung to him, uncomfortably rubbing under his arms.

He dropped the sponge into the bucket and peeled off the offending item of clothing, tossing it atop his earlier discarded shirt on the ground. He grabbed the sponge and squeezed out the excess moisture, wiping a hand down his chest and stomach, as some of the soapsuds splashed on to his skin.

He bent over Baby’s bonnet and continued to clean, lying across her body almost tenderly. He shoulders ached and throbbed as his muscles flexed with every movement. Sweat trickled down his spine in a long line, disappearing below the waistband of his jeans.

The sun lit up his arms, making them glisten as they moved over the black surface, every curve highlighted by the droplets of water clinging to the fine hairs.

Sweat dripped from his eyelashes, stinging his eyes, as it rolled down his face, falling from his jaw, down his neck and over a vein pulsating from the heat, leaving a trail of clean as the bead made its way over his throat, finally settling in a groove on his collar bone.

He was hot, and wet, and dirty, and couldn’t have been happier.


Dean rubbed and polished his favourite girl for two more hours before deciding to call it a day.

He bent down and grunted as he picked up his work tools, holding the small of his back as he straightened up again.

Throwing everything back into the bag, he returned to the bunker. He dumped it all in a pile just inside the door, knowing he’d need most of it to finish the job tomorrow.

He grabbed his shirts and flung them over his shoulder. They slapped his bare back with a squelch. Trudging down the stairs he headed to the shower, stopping by the library on the way to see Sam.

“Anything?” Dean asked

Sam looked up and cast an eye over his brother. “No” he said. “How’s the Impala? Cleaner than you?” Sam smirked.

“Funny” Dean said. “She’s getting there.” He ran a hand back through his wet hair. “I’m gunna go wash up. You hungry? I can grab us some food after I’ve showered then come give you a hand.”

“Sounds good” Sam said, returning his gaze to his books.

“Maybe two set of eyes”, Dean offered.

Sam grunted.

Dean made his way to his bedroom, the exertion of the day making every muscle twitch and tingle with every step. He was suddenly starving. Dropping his clothes on his bedroom floor, he picked up his toilet bag and towel and headed to the shower, thoughts of The Darkness…and pizza on his mind.