Dean opened the shed doors and sighed, "Oh Baby, I'm so sorry."

The driver's door was smashed in so badly, he couldn't get it open. The steering wheel was bent sideways and the windshield was ruined. He was also going to have to replace all four tires while he was at it, and the bench seat on the driver's side was warped. He got in through the passenger side and slid the key into the ignition. He held his breath as he started her up. She stuttered a couple times, and then rumbled to life. She stalled out seconds later, but it sounded like the engine wasn't in too rough of shape.

"Alright, Baby. Let's get started." He got out and took off his overshirt. He turned on the radio sitting on the workbench and popped in a Motorhead tape.

That's where Sam found him later, elbows deep in the engine and singing loudly. Sam turned down the radio and told him, "Dinner's almost ready. Is she gonna live?"

Dean finished what he was doing before stepping away from the car. He found a shop rag to clean his hands with and replied, "Yeah, she'll be just fine. Just needs some work."

Sam scanned the car; she was going to need more than 'some' work. But he smiled and said, "If anyone can get her back on the road, it's you."

Dean returned the smiled as he lowered the hood. "Damn right. How's the arm?"

"Ready to be free of this," Sam sighed, scratching at the cast. "How about you? You're being careful with your stitches, right?"

"Sam, I'm taking most of them out tomorrow. I know it's a couple days earlier than the doc said, but I know I don't need them anymore."

Sam started to protest, and Dean added, "I'm not saying I'm completely healed. I just don't need all of them."

"Fine. If you need my help, let me know."

The look he gave Dean clearly said, I'm not totally fine with it, but I know you're still going to do it. At least let me help.

"You can barely hold a fork, kiddo. I'm not letting you anywhere near me with a pair of scissors. I might let you watch, if you're into that sort of thing."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean chuckled.

The Next Morning

Dean removed his shirt and carefully peeled the bandages off his ribs. The bruising was a lovely shade of yellow and would be gone in another day or two. He picked up the tiny scissors he had found in Bobby's first aid kit and began cutting through the stitches. When he'd done three, he used tweezers to pull the stitches out of his skin.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, supervising. He was quiet as Dean continued. The older brother glanced over at him and said, "See? So far so good."

"It looks like the only ones you'll have to leave in are the ones just below your ribs. That's probably where the door handle-"

"Don't go blaming Baby, she didn't mean to hurt me," Dean said, removing a couple more stitches.

Sam smiled. "Relax, I'm not blaming Baby. Why would I trash talk your car while you're holding scissors? Even though I don't think you could cause much damage with those."

Dean thought about it. "I could use them to cut your hair. It wouldn't look very pretty."

"You wouldn't dare," Sam said.

Dean grinned. "Then continue not trash talking Baby."

He went to work on the stitches above the ones he was going to leave in, really concentrating so he wouldn't cut the wrong ones by accident. He was in the clear until someone rang Bobby's doorbell. His hand slipped and the scissors cut the still-needed wound began bleeding steadily and Dean swore colorfully.

Sam was at his side within seconds. He snatched up a towel and pressed it against the wound. Dean told him, "Go get the first aid kit, the good one from the kitchen. And tell Bobby to shoot the person at the front door."

Dean took the towel and Sam went to investigate. Bobby was closing the front door and holding a small box covered in a shipping label. He looked up as Sam strode past and asked, "What are you up to?"

"I'm getting the good kit. Dean's bleeding."

Bobby left the box on the kitchen table and followed Sam back to the bathroom. Dean was holding the towel with one hand and bracing himself against the counter with the other. Both hands were shaking slightly. Bobby immediately washed his hands and said, "I knew you weren't ready to take them out yet."

"I hadn't planned on taking those specific ones out. The doorbell surprised me and my hand slipped."

Bobby cleaned Dean's wound, threaded a needle, and replaced the broken stitches. As he worked, he told them, "The part came in for the Impala, left it on the table for you. I got a call from another hunter before it showed up. You boys up for a hunt?"