Dean Winchester loved cars. He breathed cars… he ate cars… he slept cars. There was no make or model he couldn't dance with… no engine he couldn't play with. Cars were his whole life… and there was nothing he loved more than cars. Expect maybe to drive them.
Dean Winchester loved to drive. He loved feeling of warmth as the seat comfortably engulfed him like a protective embrace… the feel of steering wheel as it molded familiarly into his hands like an eager lover… He loved smooth glide of gears as they shifted ever so silently over each other… the quite hum of the engine as it purred beneath his feet… the scent of rubber burning on tarmac… the rough caress of the wind on his face as he blew past the competition…
No, Dean Winchester lived to drive.
Or so he thought.
Until the day he met Cas.
Sam Winchester adjusted his headpiece, glaring into the monitor and took a deep breath. "Jess?" he called into it.
Deep in the middle of stands, Jessica Lee Moore adjusted her headpiece over her blond curls. She glanced around her – all the Chevy Team Winchester groupies in various states of undress. She herself was sporting was Team Winchester Silver tube-top and a black micro-mini skirt, Dean Winchester printed in block red letters across her chest, his colours painted across her face and bare arms. She raised an eyebrow at Holly Madison, Dean's newest squeeze, and smiled. Holly held up a placard that said "Goooooo Dean!" She herself held her standard sign, and Dean's signature catchphrase, "Dean Winchester. He Tangos on Tarmac."
"Cheer Team ready," she spoke into mouthpiece.
Sam took another breath, "Dad?"
Surrounded by spare engine parts and spare tyres, John Winchester cocked an eyebrow at his crew. Bobby, Jo, Andy and Max – the fastest and the best pit crew in NASCAR history. They weren't the kind anyone could just buy – they were family and their loyalty was unquestionable. Bobby grunted at him and Jo gave him a two-thumbs-up. "Pit crew, ready," he told his younger son.
Sam heaved a sigh and waited for the final confirmation. "Dean?"
Dean Winchester grinned into the rearview mirror and adjusted it for the last time. He then adjusted his goggles, his helmet, his trademark cocky-grin and smiled for the dashboard camera, roaming his tongue over his teeth, then blowing a raspberry for his baby brother's benefit. "Driver ready," he said in a clear voice. "Bitch," he murmured under his breath.
"Jerk," came over the radio and Dean gave a genuine smile, tension leaving his body.
The booming voice of the announcer came over the speakers as the cars moved into position. Dean looked at the picture of his mom he always kept on his dash and blew a kiss at it. "Wish me luck, mom," he said revving up the engine, waiting for the green light.
The lights started flashing, signaling that the race was about to begin. In his ear, Dean could hear Sammy murmuring encouragements and "best of luck".
Dean took a deep breath as Sam said "… in three…two…ONE! GO, GO, GO, DEAN!"
… And he lost himself to the familiar rhythm of the rubber grinding on tarmac.