A/N: Excuse spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. Got bored and had some time, saw a little prompt like this on Pinterest and thought it would be a cute little story. Reviews are much appreciated and if you want to see any sort of story written in particular or have an idea that you'd like me to make into a story, please comment! Enjoy! :)

It was stupid, Dean knew, but he couldn't find it in himself to care to be the bigger man. Be the older brother. No, instead he found anger and an irresistible urge to prove Sammy wrong. The little boy was only six and could barely even remember how to spell his last name, but that little kid had the stubborness of their father, John Winchester, who drank like a fish and refused to usually move between the hours of seven PM to eleven AM. And if, in some miracle, he did move, it was so he could grab another bottle of that weird amber stuff that made him talk slurrily like Dean had witnessed men do out of bars and stumble over his feet.

"Daddy told me the car's name was Metallicar!" Sammy hissed.

It made sense. That 67' Chevy Impala definitely fit the title of 'Metallicar' as the only thing Dad really played in there was Metallica and some other rock bands. He occasionally settled for the typical 80's music that was found on some free stations, but he clearly had some sort of obsession of listening to songs such as "Fade to Black" on repeat.

Dean growled in response to his brother. The car's name was Baby. It had always been 'Baby' in Dean's eyes, and it would forever be. The ten year-old had damn well nearly built that engine from scratch along with repairing the hood and all the mechanics underneath it after Dad got fuzzy, like he typically did, and got in an accident. Thankfully he was alright, the man on the receiving end not being so lucky, and he had to pay a huge amount of money for the guy he'd injured. After that, Dad began chugging more of that hazel crap. Dean decided he hated it because it changed the man he'd known six years ago into this short-tempered maniac with an unkempt beard and a sharp tongue.

Anyway, after Dad had blown their money paying off medical and mechanical bills to the victim, he had no money and or energy to work on his own damaged car. Dean had seen a lot, been through a lot, and the only thing besides Sammy that's gotten through it all was that car. Even Dad, who was technically still around, changed. So, when Dean realized Dad wasn't going to do squat about Baby and he was going to leave her there to fend for herself, Dean stepped in and immediately went to work. In those four blessed years when Mom was alive and Dad was happy and even in those six months after Sammy was born, Dean learned a lot from his happy-go-lucky father.

Dad would always take him out in the front whenever he was going to repair something on the Impala and would always take the time to teach Dean what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what he was doing it to. By three, Dean could point, spell, and read words that referred to a car such as motor, wheels, tires, gasoline, radio, hood, faster and better than he could hi, bye, love, and want. Dad couldn't have been prouder and though Mary, his wife and the boys' mother, despised the thing at first, found joy in watching her son and husband collectively work on the car.

It took awhile, don't get Dean wrong, but he eventually managed to scratch up the parts he needed along with tools and immediately got to work. Within a week, the car had been repaired and looked almost perfect. Dean glared at what he'd fixed for a long time until he realized what it was missing and quickly ran to fetch the last bit. With that final piece in place, Dean was proud to say he'd mended that entire thing back together. Unfortunately, his intoxicated father couldn't share his enthusiasm and ended up giving his son a pat on the head and a mumble of words Dean couldn't make out. Keeping in mind he was only seven when he put that entire car back together, Dean still felt a bit of annoyance to his father for not giving him the credit he deserved but never spoke his opinion.

Ever since the accident, Dean has made it his job to watch out for that thing. She was vunerable and could easily be damaged and he found himself watching over her like a hawk. He hated when his father got into the driver's seat and despised it when Dad spilled his weird drink all over the leather of the seats and cursed, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. Not only did it stink up the car, it stained the seats and made the steering wheel even that much more wobbly and loose. One day the damn thing would fall off and Dean wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry because Dad would get so mad, but then on the other hand he was the one who had fixed it and placed that wheel there.

However, because of Dean's compulsive urges to make sure there weren't scratches on the car and make sure everything was intact, he decided to name her 'Baby'. Why exactly, he'd never know. Sometimes he believed it was because he treated her with the constant care you would have to an infant, but sometimes he thought it was because he loved that thing so much. Some would call the love he had for the car absurd and bizarre and he, himself, didn't even sometimes understand the reasoning for his obessession with the Impala, but it all factors right back to the night Mom died. After their house burned down, Mom died, and they lost everything, Dean watched his world change. Everything was gone and everything was ruined, everything changed and everything seemed wrong. Except the Impala.

So now, as Dean stood watching his younger brother rant about how the car's name was 'Metallicar', he found himself fuming.

"Her name isn't Metallicar, it's Baby!" Dean shouted.

"No, it's not!" Sam snapped back, his shaggy hair which desperately called for the attention of a scissor wiping into his eyes out of anger.

"Yes, it is! She's my Baby!" He growled.

"No, she's the family's Metallicar!"

"Metallicar sounds like a damn Transformer!"

"No, it doesn't!" Sam yelled, his small form tensing with frustration.

"Her name is Baby, that's final."

"Liar!"

"Loser!" Dean growled.

"Dumbo!"

"Bitch!"

"Chick-" Sam gasped.

Dean's fists uncurled as his eyes widened, realizing what he'd just called his little brother. Sam's greenish, hazel eyes shaded with a new emotion Dean hated to be the reason of as he stepped back, his little fists clenching tighter as he let out a strangled noise from his throat. The little boy didn't know what to say, so he attempted to think on his feet and shouted, "Noodle-face!"

Dean couldn't help but crack a smile at Sam's attempt of a curse as Sam growled at his brother's reaction. That wasn't what he was looking for, no, Sam wanted to see his brother offended. So, he spat out the worst thing he could think of.

"Jerk!"

The older brother couldn't resist. He let out a laugh because it was quite evident his baby brother didn't have a mean bone in his body and the most disgusting word he could think of was 'Jerk'. His laughing led to a string of chuckles which caused Sam to begin to giggle as well until they were both laughing like idiots.

And ever since that day, the boys had always considered 'Bitch' and 'Jerk' not as curse words, but as nicknames.