He felt, rather than heard the audible clang of metal on metal reverberate through his very being.
Watched with down cast eyes as his brother walked out of the dingy, soft lit motel room, and never once looked back.
He strode over to the waste basket with purpose, and clenched that tiny figure head in his palm, letting it tear into his skin.
Spinning around he picked up his duffel and made his way out the door.
Slumping into the passenger seat, he pocketed the idol and glanced over at his co-pilot.
Switching on the radio, Dean played their song, and as the lyrics blasted form the speakers he knew that as long as they had 'this' the idol did not belong in the trash.