DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or the song.
Shattered
In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town, another everything
Dean stormed out of the motel room to the sounds of Sam yelling after him and the hurt silence of Castiel. He wasn't going to do this again. Sam always took Cas's side now. Well, Sam and Cas could go off and have their own little hunts. He had everything he needed, his car, his guns, and his pride.
But it's always back to you
Stumble out in the night
From the pouring rain
The night was dark and rain poured heavily from the sky. He stood outside the Impala, hand resting on the handle in hesitation before he yanked it open and slid easily into the worn leather seat. The engine started with its usual roar and he he pulled out. From the corner of his eye he could see the light from the open door, and silhouette too small to be Sam.
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you
He stopped the car a few miles out of town and sat back in the seat, listening to the rain as he tried to control his anger. Anger at Sam, anger at Cas, anger at himself for feeling like this. He knew it and they knew it. He was running from his problems again, because it wasn't something that he could kill and be done with.
But I'm good without ya
Yeah I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
But he wasn't, was he? Every time Cas was gone, he could feel it, and his brother could see it—not that he'd say anything. He might say that everything was peachy and shovel pie into his face, but whenever Cas was gone nothing felt the same.
How many times can I break til I shatter?
Over the line, can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
It was always the same. Cas would say something, or do something, and he wouldn't know how to handle it. He'd blow it off, walk out, or get drunk enough to make himself believe it never happened. He could only imagine what it did to Cas. Every hurt look thrown his way, every nice gesture brushed off, he must hate him.
Give me a break; let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time
But I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
A man can only die so many times, and Dean figures his number is pretty much up. He tells himself that he doesn't want to hurt Cas when he dies again, which is only partially true. He's afraid of Cas dying as well. Every time someone dies, no matter how many times they've done it, it takes a little more of him, a little more effort to pull himself out of the spiral of grief. And he's afraid that Cas will be one that he'll never recover from.
I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you
He ended up sitting in the car for hours, the rain and his own soft breathing the only sounds. He thought about everything, his angel, his family, the job, God. Dying. He thought it might be easier to do that again, but pushed the thought out of his head immediately. He dropped his head back against the seat as the first hints of dawn glistened on the wet road. He started the car.
But I'm good without ya
Yeah I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
But he wasn't. Not by a long shot, because Dean realized that he was in deep. He thought about Sam, and the women that he'd loved, and wondered if he ever felt like this. Because he wasn't good, and dammit, if Sam wasn't either, he wanted to know.
How many times can I break til I shatter?
Over the line, can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Dean flicked the switch for the lights and pulled a U-turn. Not once did leaving for good cross his mind. Not once did he think about turning around and running away again. Because he had something good for once, something that—at the moment—he was the only one able to ruin. And he wasn't going to do that.
Give me a break; let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time
But I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
The familiar hum of the well loved engine reminded Dean of days past, when he and Sam were children, almost ignorant of the horrors of the world. Of family road trips that didn't mean shooting anything. Of Dad, who seemed like his pride for his sons lessened as they began the important process of independent thinking. Of Bobby, who had showed him everything he knew about cars. He remembered everything that had happened in, on, against, around that car. And it all pointed in one direction.
Give it up, give it up Baby
Give it up, give it up now, now
But he knew it wasn't going to be easy. As the Impala moved closer, mile by mile, he gripped the wheel tighter. Cas would know, he would be scared, he would be broken, and he'd trust the angel to put him back together again. He knew that he would take care of him. He'd already stood by his side, day after day when all Dean could do was snark at him. Cas would take care of him.
How many times can I break til I shatter?
Over the line, can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
He headed back down the road to the cheap motel, the neon Vacancy sign piercing through the pre-dawn glow. It was still a mile down the road but he knew what would be waiting for him. What he didn't deserve. How many times had he been brought back? Had Cas? Had Sam? Any day, they were all going to break.
All that I feel is the realness I'm faking
Taking my time
But its time that I'm wasting
I always turn the car around
Dean was smart, so he figured there had to be a reason somewhere for why they all kept coming back. Maybe it was time for him to stop pretending that what he felt was less than it was, was a joke that he could laugh off, or something that would go away. He'd certainly taken his sweet time with realizing what he wanted.
How many times can I break til I shatter?
Not many more. But hopefully he wouldn't have to. Maybe now, he'd crack, but he wouldn't break, because his angel would be there to hold him together.
Over the line, can't define what I'm after
He was after Castiel, the glue that would hold him together, the one that he could trust to pull him out of Hell again, the one who didn't understand but knew his very soul.
I always turn the car around
And he always had before, but never with his mind clear, never with it made up. He'd turned around—his car, his life, his heart.
Don't wanna turn that car around
He pulled into the motel parking lot and cut the engine. The drapes didn't move, the door didn't open. He'd apologize, and confess.
I gotta turn this thing around.
Dean raised his hand to knock, and the door was opened for him.