Catching the good golden light on the highway to nowhere
The highway stretched itself out before him. There was nothing to be seen but the long road. It seemed to go on forever, black asphalt sparkling in the warm, golden beams of the sun. The Impala moves onward, tires making no sound on the road. It nearly felt like they were flying.
Sam smiled to himself. All was good. There was nowhere to go. But that didn't matter; they didn't need a destination, anyway. They could go on and on.
Forever.
For a split second, doubt overcame him, like a nagging voice in the back of his head, but he couldn't make out what it was saying. He frowned. But before he could question the foreboding feeling, it was gone. Like it had never been there.
He glanced sideways. Dean was sitting beside him, hands loosely draped over the steering wheel. Dean grinned at him before he turned his attention back to the neverending road. It seemed to be stretched out even further than before—like chewing gum. And Sam noticed now for the first time the wind that was blowing through the open car windows. It was hot. The breeze brought no relief from the burning sun that was shining down on them, glinting off the black exterior of the car.
The blowing breeze seemed to make no sound.
"Where are we going?" Sam asks—voice hoarse like he hadn't spoken for a long while. A fleeting thought of thirst passed through his mind. But that was gone, too before he could focus on it.
"Nowhere, Sammy," was Dean's torpid answer. "We do not have to go anywhere."
Despite the burning hotness in the car, Sam felt a chill run down his back. But he pushed the dreading feeling down. He didn't want it. Everything was okay, right?
They moved along the highway, soundlessly. Hours seemed to go by in a second, at the same time, every second seemed to take infinite to pass.
It was like time stretched out, too. Bent.
The longer they went on, the slower time seemed to pass.
And it grew even hotter in the car, the sun moving along with them until the burning, orange glow of it seemed to take up the whole horizon, but sunset seemed an eternity away.
Sam shifted restlessly in his seat. The brightness of the sun seemed to take up everything in the expanse around him.
It was just Dean and him, speeding along the black highway, and they never passed another car. But it was okay, right?
"Are we stopping soon?" His voice seemed to come from somewhere far away. It reverberated through the car. And his brain seemed slowed down, too.
Dean didn't answer, a slight smile playing on his lips.
It was just too hot in the car. The thirst was back, and it was not just a fleeting thought this time. His throat ached and was scratchy from the lack of saliva.
"Dean!"
Dean didn't turn to look at him, the smile seemed plastered on his face now. Like a mask—like it was stretched out, too.
Dean's answer came slow, "easy Sammy, no need to panic, we have nowhere to go, relax."
Do not think–do not try to scratch it.
But Sam tries desperately to clear the fog in his brain. The nagging voice was back in full force. Something in the back of his head screamed at him—pleaded. But he couldn't reach it.
Stay!
The ever-burning heat was nearly unbearable now. Sweat was seeping out every pore of his body. It ran in trickles over his back. It pricked his eyes.
Dean did not appear to be bothered by anything; not the blistering heat or the blinding light of the sun, not the road that seemed to expand–stretching out and going on for forever. He also appeared not to be bothered by the stillness of everything.
Stillness?
Suddenly Sam was aware of the silence that surrounded them. It weighed down on him—suffocating him. Everything appeared to have dimmed.
Sam tries to call out to his brother, but his vocal cords produce no sound.
When he looks sideways, Dean is gone. A second later the car is gone, too.
It's too late.
There's no black highway or blowing breeze anymore.
There's only the blinding light of the burning sun. It illuminates its white-hot glow down on him. It burns.
He wants to scream. The voice in his mind is yelling at him. It's chanting a name over and over again.
"SAM!"
Sam comes awake in a dark room–his room, gasping. Soft sheets tickle his chin. Hot tears run down the side of his face, soaking his pillow.
Dean.
He wants to call out for his brother, but it's no use.
Dean is not there anymore.
Hello! I got the idea for this story from a prompt generator and decided to write a story based on it. Tell me what you think of it. Good? Bad?
This story is really vague, but it seemed to write itself and I guess it's all up to your own imagination. I hope nonetheless you still enjoyed.
Not beta'd. All the mistakes are mine.