Work Text:
As long as the wheels are turning
As long as the fires are burning
As long as your prayers are coming true
You better believe it
The road stretched on ahead, comforting, familiar, safe. Nothing changed there. It weaved its way across the country, turning and tossing its known secrets far and wide. It ducked and bobbed and rose and fell and never stopped. It was a constant, the road stretching on before them, as it had been before.
(Things before had seemed so much easier).
The road so far had been a promise, a salvation. Something to run to when everything else was gone, the one thing he could always count on to never disappoint him. At the end of the day there was the open road calling to him once more, the black secrets whispering sweet nothings and the purr of Baby under his fingers as she lapped up all the secrets as they came.
(No more secrets, not this time).
It was all that was left. An open road, a home, the known. There was peace on Earth, order restored, life in the graveyard again. All those that had been taken, snapped out of existence like pawns in a grand game, like extras no longer needed, a line deleted in a redraft, all restored to their lives. The mundanity of it all continued on around them like the world hadn’t stopped for a beat until the record was returned to its natural state.
(Well, all but one).
He felt his fingers grip even tighter around the steering wheel. The black seemed endless. The comfort of it now taunted him, as he had before.
(Far too many times before).
Death was not something you got used to. No matter how many times he watched his heart get ripped out in front of him; thrown back at his feet mangled and wrong; no matter how many ghosts smiled out of the shell they occupied after, it was wrong. It hurt to see a smile so gummy and honest turn sour and malicious, the cruelty of it striking an already broken heart into even more pieces.
(He didn’t know when he never pieced it together sooner).
The road ahead was cruel in its never ending longevity but it had to end some time. Everything had to have its end.
(Everything but one thing).
The road ahead was a gummy smile, a known thing that had to be coaxed out. Something that had started as confusion before it became confident, sure, so bright it ached to look at.
(He wasn’t confused anymore).
The world had returned, the buzz of people scarcely known here, just the occasional car was the only reminder needed. They won. They finally, fucking finally, won.
(So why didn’t it feel like a victory?)
His brother’s fingers flew over the keypad off his phone, his own victory already won and safe. Alive. Back. Home. Together in a known surety until they could physically be together again. A comfort in the ease of his breaths, even as his fingers typed so fast you could feel the recent loss vibrating in the air because of them.
(Why didn’t it feel like the end?)
Loss was never the end. Not with them. They’d always been too stubborn to let that happen.
(Always been too stubborn to admit the true reason why).
Right now, with the sun breaking and the light of dawn calling to them, the endless road seemed for a second like it may still have a secret or two to spare. It didn’t have to be the end. It wasn’t the end until it was right. It wouldn’t be right until he was back home. Home in the arms of the driver who stared ahead with green eyes filled with determination, unwavering. The end was his to claim again, his own to write. He had a wrong to right. He had many wrongs to right.
(Words that had weighed him down for years until he was drowning under them, unable to bring them to light).
Dawn called, a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Not the end. A new beginning, a new hope. The dawn called to them, her sweet song full of hope and promise.
(So long as he had days left he’d keep going after that).
A small smile threatened to break out somewhere under the cool façade. Hope bubbled under the surface, warm and fuzzy. It tasted real and he realised he’d never tasted anything but ash. It felt foreign and sweet and he already loved it.
(Hope was love).
He had all the time in the world, finally his only man, free to do what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.
(Love was hope).
The sun filtered down and he closed his eyes against the glare for a second. Behind his eyelids he saw blue eyes and something so radiant he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He didn’t think he ever would. But he was willing to fight for it, willing to do anything to have that back in his life.
(Love was never the end).
He wasn’t giving up. He’d get him back. He was Dean freaking Winchester and he had an angel to love and nothing was going to make him give up until he got the one thing that he needed more than anything back where it belonged.
(With him).
Cos I would do anything for love (but I won’t do that)