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There was glass everywhere, when she came out to look at the Impala again: on the ground, and on the cars surrounding her, and throughout the interior, sparkling on top of the upholstery. Dean found in on her clothes, after she'd gone inside the day before. She'd cut her scalp when she brushed her hair that night, dragging bits of glass through it. She gritted her teeth and walked to the tire iron first, then put it away. The ground crunched under her boots with every step, and she'd need to sweep it up if she wanted to drive out of here eventually, but not now. That wasn't yet.
She looked back towards the house, and Sam was where she'd seen him on her way outside: sitting in the sunlight in a rusting patio chair he'd found god knows where, with his legs sprawled out in front of him and a book in his hands. He was looking at the pages, but he'd been looking at them when she passed by earlier, too, and she hadn't thought he was reading then, either.
Dad says you might have to kill him, her brain chimed in, the way it had every time she'd looked at Sam since the hospital, and she turned back towards the car instead.
She got the driver's door open and braced her hands on the roof, leaning down and looking in. The seats were bloody under the layer of glass, and she couldn't make herself climb inside, not to hide and not to clean. She wanted to tear into the car again, to smash it from a different angle until it was too totalled to fix, until she couldn't make out what had happened here anymore.
She hadn't known she could think worse things about Sam than just wanting to fuck him, but wondering how she'd kill him, if she had to, and why she might have to in the first place, took the cake.
Dean leaned her head against the car, planting her forehead carefully between her hands. The roof was warm, at least, and the heat feels good on her still-healing scrape. She stayed there for a while, until she thought she could look at the car again, and then she straightened up, standing on her own again. She bent over and scraped one careful handful of glass out of the seat and into the dirt, and then did another and another, working through the slight pain in her hand until she'd gotten all she could reach.