Dean's always been the pilot of the Impala ever since Dad gave it to him. (And does that make Sammy his co-pilot?) The leather is comforting as he sits in the driver's seat, the loud purring engine another melody accompanying the loud rock music playing. It's familiar.
And yet, it feels wrong. There's something terribly wrong that makes Dean's heart seize up and twist and claw at his heart and constrict his lungs like some gruesome demon that's living in his chest. It makes him ache, physically and mentally. He feels as though he's going to drown in grief.
"Bitch." He says, closing his eyes and he just prays for an answer, prays that everything's okay, and that Sam will just hurry up and fucking answer him already.
But he doesn't get an answer.
He doesn't know if it's the emptiness or the silence that breaks him first.