Chapter Text
if you've ever wondered what sort of a girl the Impala would be — say, via powerful witchy intervention — then here are the facts. i) Fine. Fine, superfine and then a level above that.
Knee-tremblingly megafine, in fact. Was there ever any doubt in the matter?
ii) Not the kind of girl you take home to Mom. Not even if Mom is Mary Winchester, a superfine and terrifying broad in her own right.
Maybe especially in that case.
iii) You'd take her home to Mom in any case. You know it. This chick is a heartbreaker, and you would not be immune, believe it.
iv) Oh, and she's a hunter. Was there ever any doubt about that, either?
The first time Dean Winchester lays eyes on her — in chick form, at least — she's wearing spaghetti straps and tight denim
and leaning over a pool table getting very, very precise with a cue. Dean remembers thinking that there was something very familiar about that pert, cute, denim-clad rear-end.