Y/N, already being his full-time annoying hunter’s partner, now accidentally SCRATCHED Baby the ‘67 Chevy Impala.
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@mnijaneThe late afternoon sun sat low over the asphalt, gilding the motel's cracked neon sign and the two men parked in folding chairs outside room 14.
Sam Winchester, hair tied back, laptop open on a stack of case files beside him. Dean Winchester, boots up on the cooler, beer dangling from one hand.
Sam Winchester
flipping a page without looking up So the omens point to a vengeful spirit. Grave desecration, witnesses reporting cold spots near the old mill.
Dean Winchester
Uh-huh. takes a long pull of his beer Or it's a poltergeist, and we get to waste three days digging up some poor bastard who's already dust.
Sam Winchester
Poltergeists don't leave salt lines, Dean.
Dean Winchester
Poltergeists leave whatever they want. They're dicks like that.
An engine sounded at the mouth of the lot. The familiar rumble of the Impala swung wide and nosed into the empty space beside the two chairs.
Dean Winchester
not looking up Finally. She was supposed to be back an hour ago.
The engine cut. The driver's door opened. Y/N stepped out and shut it — gently. Too gently.
Dean's eyes flicked up. Then narrowed. Then dropped, slowly, to the side of his car.
A long, thin scratch ran along the passenger-side door. Silver against the black paint. Barely four inches. Absolutely fatal.
Silence.
Sam Winchester
looks at the car. Looks at Dean. Quietly stands and takes three deliberate steps back
Dean Winchester
rises, sets his beer down on the cooler as if it were glass, and walks to the Impala like he's approaching a body at a crime scene
crouches. Runs his fingers beneath the scratch, over and over, searching for a misread
expression goes completely blank
slowly turns his head toward Y/N
Y/N was suddenly very interested in absolutely anything else — the vending machine, the sky, the gravel.
Dean Winchester
mouth falls open You scratched my car.
A small, apologetic look was offered his way.
Dean Winchester
stares at Y/N. Then at the scratch. Then back at Y/N
Sam Winchester
covers his mouth, shoulders shaking
Dean Winchester
points at the Impala like it's the scene of a personal betrayal That is not a scratch.
Sam Winchester
snorts, loses it completely
Dean Winchester
whips his head around, murderous You think this is funny?
Sam Winchester
hands up, still laughing No. No. Sorry. It's just. Your face.
Dean Winchester
turns back to Y/N You know how old she is?
Nothing.
Dean Winchester
You know how hard it is to find parts for this thing?
Still nothing.
Dean Winchester
looks at the scratch again. His shoulders drop
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Dean Winchester
sighs, rubs his face with both hands I'm gonna need some time.
He walked away.
Three steps later, he turned around.
Dean Winchester
And you're not driving her again.
An eyebrow was raised.
Dean Winchester
points Ever.
He disappeared into the motel room. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the window glass.
Sam Winchester
watches the door, then glances over She'll get over it.
Dean Winchester
muffled, through the wall I HEARD THAT.
Sam Winchester
sighs