Sam was ready to leave.
The hunt in the small New Jersey town had worn both him and Dean out. They had come back bruised, beaten, bloody and just outright pissed off.
Dean hated the neighborhood, Sam hated the food. It was one of those hunts that reinforced the idea that what the Winchesters did was a proper job as much as a regular nine-to-five.
For a second, Sam mused the idea of Hunter W2s and 401Ks while they picked up their belongings from the shoddy motel room. He imagined clauses on life insurance if the hunter died being gutted by a werewolf versus drowned by a poltergeist, and to whom the benefits would go.
"You planning your dream wedding, Cinderella?"
Dean's remark pulled Sam back to the present moment; back to the task at hand. A mischievous smirk graced his brother's face and Sam answered by tightening his lips and rolling his eyes.
"Are you finished yet?" Dean asked, zipping his duffle bag, "I wanna get out of this crap town pronto"
"Not yet. You can go ahead and put your stuff in the car, I'm almost done"
Tucking his gun into his pants, Dean walked out of the motel room, leaving Sam to finish picking up.
After triple-checking the room, Sam had found two shotgun shells underneath the table. He picked them up and safely stored them into his bag's side pocket.
That's when he heard it.
His brother's panicked shout.
"NO!"
Every hair on Sam's neck stood up. His hands had found his gun, fingers expertly curling around it and his feet were already moving him toward the door before his mind had a moment to process the possible danger.
He opened the door with a jolt and saw Dean's face frozen in shock, bag on the floor, eyes glued to the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice poorly masking his concern.
Dean's eyes slowly met his brother's and a shaky finger rose to point at the Impala's passenger door.
Sam carefully walked around the car and looked up at Dean's Baby.
Thin white scratches on the stark black paint of the classic Chevy spelled out the word 'DOOSHBAG.'
The Impala had gotten keyed.
With a misspelling, no less.
Sam's arms dropped and his eyes widened, mirroring Dean's expression almost perfectly.
Neither one dared to make a sound for the following thirty seconds, the only sound being Dean's rapid breathing. Neither one could comprehend the abominable crime presented to them.
Sam was pissed, but Dean was about three seconds from Hulking out.
"Who the FUCK keyed my car?!"
And there it was.
Sam was pretty sure the entire eastern seaboard had heard Dean's question.
"Did you piss anyone off?" Sam asked while trying to recall anything his brother might have done to incite this type of retribution.
Dean faced away from the violated vehicle and held his head with both hands, his eyes tightly shut.
"Sam, I think I'm gonna be sick."
Frowning deeply, Sam put a sympathetic hand on his brother's shoulder.
From behind them a burst of giggles suddenly caught Sam's attention.
Both brothers turned quickly, scanning the mostly empty parking lot for the origin of the sound, their gaze quickly resting on a pair of teenagers.
The smaller of the two was holding his palm over his mouth, attempting to stifle his laughter, while a heavy-set one held up a rusty nail between chubby fingers, a smirk painting his face.
"You shouldn't have messed with me, old man!" he yelled from across the parking lot.
In an instant, Dean had charged at the two brats, fists clenched and a loud growl emanating from his throat.
The teens quickly spun around and ran, laughing as they turned the corner.
Sam was left with the scarred Impala, and for a brief moment he wondered if Hunter's Car Insurance would cover vandalism.