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"Watch out for Sammy." "Take care of Sammy." Those words had been the biggest part of Dean's life since he was four years old. His whole world revolved around a single mission - protecting his baby brother. What Dean didn't know was that he wasn't the only one John had spoken those words to.
The night before he turned the keys of his beloved Impala over to Dean, he had walked out to the parking lot where she was parked and laid a gentle hand on her roof. "You take good care of my boys, Baby. I won't always be here, but you will. You take care of them." Of course he wasn't expecting a reply, nor did he receive one, but he couldn't help but believe that she had heard him.
Over the years, Baby kept her silent promise. No matter what the situation, no matter how bad the circumstances, the brothers always knew that the only thing in the world they could rely on besides each other was the black Impala. Somehow she always pulled through. Running on fumes to make sure her boys got home safely. Finding an extra burst of horsepower to get them away from the life-threatening situations they seemed to constantly get into. Surviving crashes she had no business surviving just to keep her beloved occupants as safe as she could. She knew that Dean was at peace behind her wheel, perhaps the only place in his troubled world where he could find peace. She knew that Sam's nightmares were eased when he fell asleep to the soothing rumble of her engine. She knew that driving down the road in the middle of the night was the only time that Sam and Dean could truly talk to each other - to talk with their hearts and not just their mouths.
Yes, they had the bunker now and it was home. Dean had developed nesting to an art form. Even Sam was becoming more comfortable with the thought of actually having somewhere to come back to. But both the brothers and Baby knew that the only home their hearts would ever want or need was the leather bench seat of a 1967 black Impala.