She was already broken, beaten, leaking oil, diesel and coolant, the seats were bloody and embedded with glass, the doors that could be opened rattled with shards of the windows.
The fenders, grill, plates, everything that could have been bent was so. The truck smashed her so hard, the mirror on one side was flattened against the body of the car.
Dean placed his hands on the hood of the impala, fingers spread wide, her smooth shiny black surface now bent and chipped, windshield half-gone, wipers were nowhere to be found, and he cried.
He had lost so much, the one constant was his car. His Baby.
He balled his hands into fists just thinking about what the demons have done, he slid his hands to his sides and looked at her front, snarled and jagged, lights bared and broken. He took hold of the mangled grill and pulled, it came off easily, and that started a great tirade, of curses, tears, he would tear this car apart and start again.
He would show those demon bastards that he will not quit, and they will never get to him.
