Written By: Mello McQueen
Summary: the feel of the leather incasing the wheel gives him a sort of fragile reassurance; the steady way the speedometer climbs gives him a kind of reckless thrill.
Pairing(s): Heavily implied DeanxCastiel
Authoress Note(s): I wrote this sometime in July. This story feels unfinished to me, but I'm honestly not sure where it would go from here, so for now this is all I have to offer. Proof that I am not dead, although if you want more detailed proof check out my profile for my twitter account. :)
The Broken Road
Dean grips the steering wheel of the Impala in shaky hands, the feel of the leather incasing the wheel gives him a sort of fragile reassurance; the steady way the speedometer climbs gives him a kind of reckless thrill. It's foolish, Dean knows this, he also knows that that is kind of the definition of the word reckless, and besides, the ever increasing speed is the only thing keeping his mind off of the empty hole inside of him.
In the back of his mind, even as he barrels down the old, broken road, both reveling in and cursing the way the car jerks violently with each bump and hole laid out before him, Dean knows the feeling will not last forever. In fact, it is likely he will start to hate himself the minute the road ends, but just now, it seems like it might really go on forever.
He hopes so, because he doesn't want to face the reality of the situation before him. Doesn't want to think about it, or the man-if ever he were such a thing-called Castiel. Despite this silent wish, in all it's desperation, Dean can't help himself as he presses the accelerator into the floor and the small plastic hand inside the dashboard crests.
It lies to him, of course,, by professing the cars current speed to be much faster than it actually is. It lies like Dad, like Sammy. Even like Mom, he thinks remember the way she used to sit at the edge of his bed when he was young and run her fingers through his hair.
"It's alright," she would say, "you don't have to be afraid. There's no such thing as monsters." But there was such a thing, Dean learned far too late. There was such as thing as monsters, and ghosts, and demons and angels. And it was these, perhaps, that Dean hated the most.
Angelic devils, all of them. And Castiel. . .Cas with his blue eyes and broken promises – he was worst of all. At the thought, Dean inhales a sharp breath as painful memories begin to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. Flashes of images he would give anything to forget.
A soft, reassuring smile.
A warm brush of fingers against his own.
Dean's name, falling rough but sugar sweet from warm lips, not meant the way it had sounded. Never once meant the way it had sounded...
Gripping the wheel tightly, Dean tries to block out the memories, tries to keep his hands steady on the wheel and his eyes on the road, but he can't.
He can't and so he lets go.
And even as the car begins to veer sharply to the right, towards the edge of the road, towards the small forest of trees surrounding him, Dean doesn't think for a second that the thrill of this might fail him. He doesn't think it, not until the car is halfway off the road and he realizes with a sinking feeling that, no, he doesn't feel any better.
But by then it's too late.
End
Authoress Note(s): Comments?