DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural. It belongs to the CW Network.

Author's Note: This is my second Supernatural fic. I was inspired by the end of S2Ep02 "Everybody Loves A Clown". If you don't want to be spoiled…then don't read the story, because I wrote it as an extended ending to where they ended the episode.

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Broken

Dean stood there for a long time. Not moving. He just stood there and let the wind ruffle his hair, let the sun burn the back of his neck, let all of his anger become a small ball inside of him.

Small enough to stuff somewhere so deep, that he hoped he would never find it again.

Goddamn, he was furious!

It was a rage so red that he hadn't seen the damage he had done until he was good and spent. The sight of the tire iron marks on the trunk of his car tore at him. He had spent hours painstakingly repairing the damage. And in a matter of seconds, he had destroyed all of that. He was filled with a sense of satisfaction and empty with despair all at once. It was a combination so contradictory, he couldn't move as they warred inside of him.

And then there was the anger. Even when the darker parts of that rage had been burned, it still simmered inside of him.

So, he stood still, his eyes just skimming over the top of the Impala, and seeing nothing else beyond it. Lost inside of himself. Bottling up his feelings like he had done for so long. But it had never been harder than this before.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke through the blankness that had momentarily numbed him. He blinked once, but didn't move.

"Hey, Dean, I was thinki—holy shit! What happened to the car?" Sam's alarm caused Dean to look back down at the damage he had done. Then he turned his head slightly to see his brother's stricken face.

He watched impassively as Sam's eyes traveled over his features, trying to read him. Those eyes went from the trunk, to his face, to his limp arms, his lifeless fingers, and finally to the tire iron that lay a few inches from his boots.

He saw the realization light up Sam's eyes. Dean felt his lips twitch slightly. His brother wasn't stupid. Was always one to connect the damned dots. Now, was no different. Sammy's eyes darkened in concern, the brows half-covered by his mop of hair frowned heavily.

"Dean, what the hell happened?" he asked, the harsh words belying the gentleness in Sam's tone.

Dean blinked carefully, then swallowed. He felt his throat constrict painfully as he tried to push words past them. "Nothing," he rasped roughly. "It's nothing, Sam. I'll fix it."

"But…you just fixed this,"

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. "And it's broken again. So what? Things break all the time, Sam. I fix them. I always do."

Sam took a sharp intake of breath. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about fixing the car," said Dean shortly. He felt the small ball of his anger grow again. He looked away from his brother and tried to look towards the horizon. But he couldn't see anything.

It was then he realized that his eyes were filled with tears.

"Dean?"

"Shut-up, Sam!" he roared.

He watched as Sam reared back in surprise, raising both his palms up slightly in a gesture of surrender. But that gesture only fueled Dean's anger. His lips twisted into a bitter sneer. "How dare you say that I'm not dealing with Dad's death," he whispered in an ominous tone.

"How dare you!" he cried out. He was shaking from rage. He shook his head at his brother, his eyes accusing.

"Dean, listen to me, you know that's not what I meant," started Sam, using that calm, logic-laced voice that usually amused Dean. But not this time. This time, he was too goddamned furious to listen.

"No, Sammy, you listen to me," he said through clenched teeth. "I want to be angry, right now. So, Let. Me. Be. Angry."

Sam looked down on the ground and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Dean looked away from the sight of his brother looking so young and lost. He couldn't look at Sam just now. He was everything that Dean was angry at.

No, actually, Dean was angry at everything…and that just happened to include Sam.

They stood in silence, neither one looking at each other, nor on the fresh dents and scratches on the Impala. They were like strangers again, unrecognizable to each other. The sun was setting, bathing everything in semi-darkness. Dean thought it was grimly appropriate that he felt like a stranger to Sam at this time of day: dusk—when it was hardest for the human eye to discern color. When everything was gray.

Like ashes.

Ashes like their dad.

Ashes like what he felt inside.

Ashes like death.

Ashes like the death that should have been his.

Sam shifted his feet, stirring some of the sand. He sighed heavily. "Dean," he said, his whispered voice seeming louder in the silence that had preceded it.

Dean growled his response.

"I'm so sorry," said Sam. His voice was all choked up.

He still didn't look at his younger brother, his eyes still unseeing in the grayness of the world. "Do you think that you're the only one who gets to be angry? The only one who's hurting that much, Sam?" he asked quietly. "Do you think you're the only one he left hanging?"

Sam didn't answer, and Dean was glad. He hadn't expected one. He swung his head to look his brother in the eye. "I'm angry, Sam. Because I feel cheated."

His brother's eyes shifted, narrowed slightly, asking for an explanation.

"I believed…I believed…" Dean broke off, his face crumbling. "I believed that we would get through it all. I believed that we would be a family again. I believed that if I did everything right…if I killed enough demons and spirits, and worked hard enough…that we would find a way back to being a family again. I even fucking believed in God, Sam! I prayed so hard; I gave up so much...for that one fucking miracle. It was all I ever needed."

Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But how can I believe, Sam? How? What am I fighting for when there's nothing to believe in? Dad's dead. We're never going to be a family again."

Without any warning, Dean bent down and picked up the tire iron again. He raised it over his head and smashed the rearview window of the Impala. It didn't shatter, but a web-like crack appeared in the middle. But Dean didn't stop there. He slammed the heavy iron rod over and over against it until the glass finally shattered, breaking into thousands of shards. "I believed so hard for nothing," he finally whispered, his eyes on the glittering glass.

The wind suddenly picked up, and Dean realized that the sun would be gone in a matter of minutes.

He heard the crunch of the gravel as Sam approached him. His grip tightened on the tire iron, but quickly released it when he felt Sam pull it away from him. He looked at his empty hands instead.

Then he chuckled slightly.

"What?" asked Sam, cautiously.

Dean shook his head. "Funniest part, Sam, is that I have to believe anyway," he said with lingering bitterness. "I have to believe in miracles, and in God, and in everything. Know why?"

Sam shook his head, his dark brown hair swinging along over his forehead.

"Because if I don't believe, then Dad's just gone. Then it means that he just stopped existing," whispered Dean. "And I can't stand that. So, I have to believe that his spirit is somewhere. That he's still something. Know what I mean?"

His eyes slid over to Sam's serious face. Then he saw a small smile on his younger brother's face. "Yeah, yeah. I think, I do."

Dean nodded slightly. He eyed the car and chuckled ruefully again. Sam cocked his brow carefully. Dean gestured towards the damage he had caused. "It's broken," he sighed heavily. "Don't know if I'll ever fix the damage now,"

"No, you won't," agreed Sam. Then he walked over to stand next to Dean, both of them looking at the sad state of their car. He clapped Dean heavily on the back. "But we will."

The End.

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If you have a second, please review, because I'm still learning Dean and Sam's 'voices'. I haven't seen all of Supernatural…four episodes from Season 1 and the two from Season 2. I'll eventually watch 'em all, though. So for now, I'm gonna rely on some people to tell me if I got them right.