Saving Grace: A Supernatural Fanfiction

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Memories

"Don't touch my Impala."

"He didn't mean it, baby."

"You steal my baby, you get punched."

"Ah!" Grace twisted as pain shot through her head, radiating across her scalp. Cotton grew in her mouth as she remembered so clearly that voice, and the fuzzy images of the very same Impala danced across her mind. Why was it so familiar?

As the pain receded, Grace scanned the road for the car she'd driven in (some fawn brown model that was perhaps the same age as the Impala but decidedly more banged up), and recognized it to be the car just two down from the Impala. Great, she thought. At least I've got my bearings straight.

Looking around cautiously, just in case something else spiked her memory (or hallucination, she couldn't tell), Grace confirmed that there was nothing else of interest around. Cautiously, she crossed the road, stopping right in front of the Impala. 

It was empty – nobody was inside. Then again, of course it was, she would have noticed otherwise, but an abrupt sense of loss snatched her senses. It was unnerving, since she didn't know what she had lost to feel so strongly about it.

Grace traced one finger over the hood of the Impala, marvelling at the glossy black of the paint and the pristine condition of the car. And this time, thoughts flooded to her – facts that both terrified her and astonished her – because it was impossible to explain exactly how she knew these things.

It was a much loved car, and though it had been worn down and broken a few hundred times, it had been buit up from scratch again and again. There was an army man crushed into the ashtray, still there. Lego bricks were still in the vents, rattling when the air conditioner was on.

There were several phones in the front seat compartment, as well as some old rock music CDs, and as Grace traced her fingers across the window to the trunk, she knew – just knew, that there were weapons in there. Under the hood she knew was etched a sign she did not know the name of but suddenly knew like the back of her hand. She could almost smell the salt, the oil, the gunpowder – she could almost feel the rifles, the grenades, the stakes.

"Don't touch that!"

Grace stumbled back, shuttering in a gasp as her eyes flew up. The voice was familiar, too familiar – her memories were real, Grace thought.

Just outside the corner shop next door to the cafe were two men: one was tall, taller than most, and the other was all decked out in black, his traditionally handsome face looking in her direction. 

Winchester

Dean Winchester

The thought flew through her mind, a cavernous whisper. She recognized him immediately. From the upward flick of his hair, the sharp cut of his jaw, the rough baritone of his voice – she knew it all. And as she noticed the irked expression he was sporting on his face, she realized it was not aimed at her.

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to."

Instead, it was aimed at the taller of the two men, who was raising a hand in the air in defiance, a brown patisserie bag in it. She couldn't see his face, but he stood semi rigidly in acute annoyance, which radiated from him and his brother.

Sam Winchester

Grace chilled as more memories came rushing to the surface in a rush of fragmented words. She could almost envision his face, now, the green speckled hazelnut eyes, the reluctant, decidedly gangly manner he often stood in, the way he compared to Dean, his older brother – taller, yet younger.

They were talking again now, in quiet murmers, but Grace could see the restraint and the anger in one anothers features. They stood, tense for a moment, before a shadow passed over Dean's eyes, and the tension went out of Sam's muscles: and unexpectedly, Sam turned around, catching Grace watching them both intently as she stood by their Impala.

Oh shit!

Grace turned around rapidly, suddenly looking very interested in the news rack, before plucking off the day's news with shaking hands. As the words stopped and the footsteps started, Grace hurried to the beat up car, attempting to appear deeply engrossed as she made it there and opened the car door. She sat down and revved up the engine, putting her paper aside as she reversed and sped out.

Beside the Impala, Sam and Dean Winchester stood, hands in their pockets as they she drove past.

And she could see them watching her in her side view mirror until she drove out of sight.

***

So, it's been a crazy long time since I've updated, and I'm really sorry! But anyways, it's here now, and I will be writing over the summer (so you can expect more than one chapter a month)!

Thank you all for the feedback on this, it's been really encouraging and great to hear!

WhiteWinged