The Impala was set up outside Bobby's; Dean was surveying everything laid out, making sure he had all he needed: rags, brake fluid, funnel, wrenches, motor oil, oil filter, screwdrivers, and a flashlight. They'd driven to Bobby's, alternating between quick, checking glances, short failed attempts at conversation, silence, and Dean blasting Def Leppard, after Zachariah's latest mess; they hadn't even had time to get to Bobby's front door before he had came out yelling in a frenzy about staying out of trouble and being better at keeping him informed and were they okay before pulling them both into a hug. It hadn't taken him long, though, to realize that they really weren't okay. Far from it and Dean needed to clear his head. He needed something he understood and was familiar with and that was routine in the midst of all the apocalypse crap, the apocalypse that he had started and God had abandoned.

Dean stopped those thoughts there and turned his attention to adding fluid for the brakes. With a little more speed than necessary, he grabbed a rag, wiping the reservoir cap before removing it. He then grabbed the funnel and brake fluid, refilling to an appropriate level. Simple, routine.

Moving on to a little more involved, but by no means not something he wasn't more than capable of handling. Cars, he understood. He went to pull out the oil dipstick, wiping it off first to be sure no hot oil was screwing the readings before dipping it back in. It was more a formality than anything, Dean knew it was time for an oil change, but right now aside from routine, he needed time, otherwise... Joshua had been right, damn it, that God, of all things, had been his last hope-he should have known better- and he didn't know what he'd do now; well, he had his thoughts, but not good ones. So, he'd take all the time he could in the familiarity of tuning up his baby, changing the oil; there, at least, he couldn't go wrong.

Dean was underneath the Impala, arms dirty with some oil from the drain plug he'd failed to move out of the way quickly enough when he heard his name.

"Dean," Cas called.

Taking a breath, Dean seriously considered just staying under the Impala. As it was, he took more time than was needed cleaning off the plug before coming back out. He'd need five minutes to let the oil drain anyway before he could do much else; he supposed he could give the angel that much time.

"What?" he asked shortly, rolling back from under the Impala.

Cas looked at him, confused. "Why are you covered in oil?"

Dean swore to himself, sometimes dealing with Cas was like dealing with a child. Hardly patient, he responded, "Because I'm doing an oil change and things can get messy. That can't be what you wanted me for. No, no, you probably need, what, some other way to find your Daddy? Me to go to Medusa's garden and bring back her head…actually, that might be kind of awesome. But not the point. Whatever it is, sorry, can't help you."

"Dean," Cas begged, looking more lost than he'd seen him before; but Dean wasn't in the mood to care. "I…I wanted to ask you what you thought we should do?"

"What do I think we should do?" Dean cracked, "Are you kidding me? You know what, no, just go. I can't do this right now."

"Dean, you…."

He cut the angel off, "Just go!"

Dean leaned against the maintenance table he had set up after Cas had gone. Cas had the nerve to ask him what to do? If an angel didn't know, how the hell was he supposed to? If an angel didn't believe they could do this, how the hell was he supposed to?! He shook his head, grabbing the oil wrench and working on removing the filter.

A part of him wished Joshua had just let him stay in the garden and sent Sam back. Of course, he didn't think his brother could get it done either, but Bobby would look after him and he'd be alive; Dean didn't have the same wishes for himself; but, so long as that wasn't happening, he'd have to figure out a way to keep going. Currently, ignoring everything else, he wasn't going anywhere without a car, so he went back to work, taking his time in being over-concerned that everything was clean an double checking all fits before installing the new filter and eventually adding in the new oil.

He just didn't feel like he had anyone to lean on. They'd all but killed Jo and Ellen themselves, Cas didn't have any faith, and he couldn't find it in himself to believe in his little brother; Sam's heaven had certainly proven that he didn't need Dean. Dean didn't need anyone either, but he admitted it made it easier. Dean remembered what he had woken up to in heaven: Fourth of July, 1996; he'd nabbed fireworks from a local display to let him and Sammy celebrate while Dad was off on a hunt….and ended up burning down the field. The memory had him halfway between crying and laughing. He wished he could go back to that time. A breath of fresh air would be good. Well, that much, he could sort of give himself. He shook off the memory, but it wasn't long before another came.

He supposed it had been impulsive; there wasn't much good reason to get the dash of the Impala off; air conditioning had been fine and inside the vents were hard to clean, but he had done it anyway, dusting off what he could. Then, when he'd taken a flashlight to examine what he cold, making sure everything still looked good to go, he froze at the sight of two legos, one blue and one yellow. He'd been even younger than the Fourth of July in 1996. They were on their way to another hunt and he'd been trying to block out Sam's million and one questions, playing with them up in the passenger seat; then, they'd hit a bump and the legos had managed to perfectly fly out of his hands and into the vents. You could hear them whenever the heat was on, but the recently they'd been so accustomed to the noise or otherwise preoccupied, he'd almost forgotten they were still there. The flashlight beam fell on the blue one, illuminated up against the dark interior; the lego had gotten dirty over the years, but was still intact, would still hurt like a bitch if you stepped on it. Silly as it may be, he wanted to pull it out and pocket it for strength. But, he didn't. It was a part of the Impala, an old one from a time and version of himself that had gone a long time ago, but one that he knew he would always keep deep inside of it. It didn't go any long stretch to fixing things but, somehow, it helped. Of all things.

Managing the smallest of smiles, Dean had done about all he could there and close up the dash. He'd get around to the tires; right now, his baby might have been filled up, but he was hungry.