"Goddammit!"

Dean shouts for the millionth time, spilling oil down his heathered gray shirt and sliding out from under the withered frame of the impala. The thing was in total ruin after a semi crashed into it a couple weeks ago, and Dean was drowning the pain of losing his dad and almost losing you in scrap metal and motor oil.

"Hey, beautiful."

Dean sits up as soon as he sees you coming over, a part he was missing in your right hand and a drink in the other.

"Toldja you not to do too much, darlin'. You're still recovering."

He reaches out, making sure you sit down comfortably in the grass before taking the bag of screws and lemonade from you.

"Had to keep you company. Bobby keeps telling me stories."

You whine as Dean takes a seat next to you.

"Stories huh?"

Dean smiles, taking a sip of lemonade.

"You can't indulge him?"

"No. Not when he's telling stories about his dead wife."

Dean winces a bit.

"You were almost my dead wife."

"Yeah. I would've haunted you though."

Dean chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand.

"Haunt me, huh? So you woulda snuck up on me just now and scared me shitless while I'm tryin' to fix my car?"

You nod, confirming his thoughts.

"You're not a very nice girl, are ya darlin'?"