Lonely Highway
Disclaimer: SPN is not mine... characters not mine...
Don't you ever say
I just walked away
I will always want you
There really isn't much to see on the small strip of highway running through Idaho heading east to Wyoming. Farm land spreads on both sides of the grey, sun bleached and rubber worn blacktop. Animals, corn crops and potato patches is all there really is besides the pot holes and faded yellow double line. As the sun burns above them on the early Tuesday morning, one car zips down the straight and lonely road. Both windows are rolled down, letting the hot summer breeze roll over the leather interior. The radio, usually blasting, remains quiet and the driver grips the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip.
Holding on for dear life in the quiet before the looming storm.
"Damnit." The word comes out broken; a soft whisper to the lonesome plains like a deadly secret. The white knuckle grip on the steering wheel grows tighter still and the leather beneath the rough finger tips whines in protest. The driver has set his course, his grip on the steering wheel and his level of concentration streaming out the windshield shows this. He not only drives but he drives with purpose.
A destination set. It cannot be changed he knows this. He cannot change his course, swing his car around and barrel back in the other direction. He can only move forward.
But the driver still hopes. He still dreams on that long patch of highway; letting reality melt with fiction and the Idaho highway keeps his secrets.
The driver dreams he slams on the brakes, spins in the other direction and barrels back to the Gas 'n Sip. Much like his reality, in his dream he would drive with a purpose. A destination set and unchangeable. This destination makes his heart leap; the dream makes his blood run through his veins again. In the dream he feels alive, as if even with all the complications and problems they may face it would be okay.
The dream becomes a reason for living.
Boldly running through the glass door, he wouldn't stand frozen, able to only stare at his purpose for living. No; he would grab him by the collar of his blue work vest- the blue that matched the deep hue of his eyes- and crash their bodies together. He would apologize in broken whimpers and bruising kisses. Each kiss more desperate than the last. He would let his body speak all the words he was incapable of speaking aloud.
I'm sorry I left you his hand says as he takes a vice grip in his angel's messy dark hair.
I love you his hips say, grinding into the heat of the other man.
Never leave me his tongue says as he tastes the black coffee lingering in his love's mouth.
Come home say his tears that drip from his eyes onto his partner's flushed cheeks.
The car comes to a halt, the back end fish tailing as the driver launched the black impala off the road into the gravel safety lane to the right. The death grip holds on the steering wheel for only a moment before it balls into a fist and flies into the dashboard, the car making crunching sounds of protest.
"Damnit!" the word is loud; flying into the Idaho sun with passionate anger forcing it out of the driver's lungs. It pierces the silence that is no longer calm, but hostile and thick with grief.
The driver knows grief. He has lost many things over the course of his short life; to many things to be sure. But this grief is new to his heart and shreds him to pieces on the side of the road. Hot tears rolling down his face and the driver crumbles, crying out into the air because he is truly and completely alone. No one to turn to- no one to rescue him. Isolated and unable to say fuck it all and drive back to the only being in the world he has a connection to. The only person that keeps him grounded at night; the one thing that makes him fight for his life because it would be a dishonor to this person to throw it away, after all they have done for him.
He failed him. One of the only people who really matters and he failed.
The driver takes his hand and grips his shoulder, rubbing the lines of the hand print burned into his skin. He had gripped him tight and raised him from the pit of hell. Fought against heaven for him. Died for him. Lost his grace for him and at the moment when he needed the driver the most, venerable and afraid, he failed him. He turned him away without explanation and with a steely resolve that it was the right thing to do.
But why did the right thing to do feel so wrong?
"Cas," Dean cries out, "I'm sorry. I love you."
The only thing that answers Dean is the quiet wind blowing down that stretch of road. He doesn't bother to wipe his eyes. He had chosen his path and when it finally reaches the end he could only hope that it isn't too late for him; for them. Maybe that he will be able to hold Cas's nightmare at bay at night, show him how to cook breakfast and fold laundry. Maybe he will get a chance to show him how he loves him in the dark of the night.
But not now. Not today.
There really isn't much to see on the small strip of highway running through Idaho heading east to Wyoming. Farm land spreads on both sides of the grey, sun bleached and rubber worn blacktop. Animals, corn crops and potato patches is all there really is besides the pot holes and faded yellow double line. As the sun burns above them on the early Tuesday morning, one car zips down the straight and lonely road. Both windows are rolled down, letting the hot summer breeze roll over the leather interior. The radio, usually blasting remains quiet and the driver grips the steering wheel with a white knuckle grip.
Holding on for dear life in the quiet before the looming storm.