Dean loved his Impala, Baby.

So much so he would rarely let his own brother drive her. She was a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, given to him by his father.

He would spend countless hours making sure Baby was in tip top shape from her rims to her windows. Call him crazy, but he loved her so very very much.

He had lots of memories packed in the cars interior, memories that made the car his, even if it had been owned by three previous people.

From the little details ranging from the little army man crammed in the ashtray of the backseat left door, to the ‘D.W.’ and ‘S.W.’ carved underneath the rear package tray.

One particular day, Dean was cooling off steam fixing up baby in the lot Bobby owned filled with junk cars and beaters. He was digging under her hood, much to your knowledge.. You didn’t know how that crap worked…

But, you loved to watch him do it.

“Hey…—“ He spoke up in his gruff voice, eyes still glued to the problem he was facing. “Can y’hand me the impact driver, please?”