It catches up to them sometimes, in those long dark stretches of dusty roads between States and stars; the wind in their hair coming in from the open window and the smell of burnt flesh still clinging to their clothes like an infection.
It catches up to them then that they're just puppets whose strings are being pulled by something much bigger than themselves. Their fates that they want so badly to be able to take and twist in their hands like a weak piece of metal are out of their control.
How much would it have been to ask to be able to decide something for themselves just fucking once instead of having to know that every move that they make was meant to happen?
Maybe that's why they do it; because it's the one thing that they feel like they can control because even if it is it doesn't feel planned. It feels perverse and wicked but just so right.
Screw destiny. When the Winchester brothers come together they're a fucking unstoppable force and who cares if big brothers are made to pick you up when you skin your knee then give you a band-aid and not made to pick you up and fuck you hard against a grotty motel room wall and come with your name upon his lips and your seed smeared on his stomach.
Because the Winchesters don't. They don't care. They'll continue to drive across the country killing monsters and trying to out smart their puppeteers- but they'll do it together. Because when the Winchester brothers come together they're unstoppable and they're brilliant (and that's enough for them, anyway).