"Dean..."
Dean barely flinched at the mention of his name. All he could do was stare. Stare in utter disbelief at the twisted, wrecked, hunk of metal that had once been his baby.
"Dean..."
He looked up from the ruined Impala and laid eyes on his little brother. Sam's fifteen-year-old puppy dog eyes were in full force, teardrops of regret and guilt trembling at his long lashes. "Dean, I'm so, so, sorry. It - it was an accident."
Dean said nothing. He didn't think he could open his mouth without something regrettable coming out of it. He just stared.
He remembered getting this car. He had worked his ass off for years, trying to scrape together enough change to make a bill, then enough bills to make a five, then enough fives to make a ten, a twenty. That car was the first thing that was really, truly his. No sharing. He wanted it, he worked for it, and he got it.
And now it was freakin' totaled.
He could hear Sam's shaky breathing as he tried not to cry, to keep what was presumeably left of Dean's respect for him still intact. Dean walked up and down the length of the car, assessing the damage. He splayed his fingers over the hood, which resembled the piece of paper he had crumpled up in frustration earlier that day, and sighed.
Finally, he looked up at his kid brother's guilty and terrified expression. He walked over to where he was awkwardly standing off to the side, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, pretending not to notice when the teenager flinched in fear. "Come on, Sammy," he said gruffly. "We've got some work to do on that thing, and I can't work without a good slice of pie." And, ignoring his brother's immensely relieved (and slightly confused) expression, he started off on the long walk to the diner.
