Dean twisted around in the handcuffs, but they were solid metal and he had nothing to pick them with. It was so much better when the bad guys used rope.
"I can make you suffer, Winchester," the demon sneered, his eyes black. "I don't even have to touch you."
"Go ahead and try," Dean invited him. "Sam's far away from here, you don't have any leverage against me."
"Ah, yes," he sighed, blinking so his eyes went back to normal, "that would be the ultimate pain, but I can settle for something more subtle. Material things do have meaning to you, Dean Winchester, regardless of how high and mighty you think you are."
"Material things?" Dean scoffed. "I don't even have any material things."
The demon smiled. "You have one." He nodded to another demon, who walked across the room to the large, rusty garage door that made up one wall of this dump. The demon lifted it to reveal Dean's beloved '67 Impala, which he'd parked there before he busted his way into this place.
"Don't you dare," he growled.
The smirk still stained the demon's face. "I'm under the impression this...vehicle...means a lot to you. Let's see the extent of that, shall we?"
Without a cue, the blond demon who'd lifted the door grabbed a can of gasoline off the floor, walked over to Dean's car, and began to pour it over the hood, the roof, and even the front seats—after breaking the window to reach them.
"This is stupid, don't do this," Dean said, calmly but a little too quickly. "What do you want?"
"This," the demon said, grinning and spreading his arms wide, "is what I want. I mean, I have a Winchester and I get to destroy something that matters to him. Then I get to destroy him. This is the best day of my...not-life."
"If you do this, Demon, so help me I will—"
"What? You'll kill this meatsuit?" He chuckled. "Light 'er up," he said to his assistant.
The blond demon smiled and struck a match, holding it over the Impala.
"Don't touch my car, you son of a bitch," Dean snarled.
"I don't have to," Blondie said, and dropped the match.
Baby lit up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. The flames consumed the inside first, where the demon had dropped the match, then licked out the window and lit the roof up with a sweeping glare. The metal groaned and the paint bubbled and peeled.
Paint Dean had put on that car.
Nothing Dean had had in his childhood was still around. His family, his house, his belongings. A life on the road does that to a person. Sammy was still with him, of course, but he'd changed. A lot. He meant more to Dean than anything, but he was hardly a reminder of a better life.
Nothing of it was still around.
Except that car.
She was all he had to hold on to from his childhood, really. She was his pride and joy, his home. The root of so many memories; some good, some bad, some just...there.
Then her gas tank caught fire, and
Dean woke with a start, the explosion still ringing in his mind.
Sam glanced over at him from where he sat at the table, looking at his computer. "You okay there, Dean?"
Dean scowled and swung himself out of bed. Before heading to the bathroom, he pushed aside the curtain to look out the window. The Impala was parked outside the motel, just like he'd left her last night.
He shook his head and went to the bathroom to marginally clean up for the day.
When he came back out, he looked at his brother for a second and said, "This work. The whole dealing with evil and monsters thing...it starts to wear on you after a while. Worm its way into your head."
Sam frowned and made some sort of gesture that meant, so what?
Dean shook his head again. "Never mind. I'm going out to take Baby for a spin. She and I need some time together."