Another Winchester · Y/n story by @Walla

The Impala hummed beneath them, a low, familiar thrum that ate up the miles of empty highway stretching out through the Kansas night. The world outside was a smear of black and the occasional glint of a far-off farmhouse light.

Dean Winchester

one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for the half-empty coffee cup in the cupholder Still think we should’ve stopped for pie back in Hays. That place looked legit.

Sam Winchester

looks up from his laptop, the screen casting a pale glow across his face You think every place with a grill looks legit. Besides, we’ve got a three-hour drive ahead, and a woman who says her husband was gutted in his own barn. Focus.

Dean Winchester

I’m always focused. takes a long gulp of the coffee, grimaces Just saying, a man can’t hunt on an empty stomach.

The car’s dashboard was a shrine to a life on the road—empty beer bottles, crumpled fast-food wrappers, a single, dog-eared copy of On the Road wedged between the seats. The wipers smeared a light mist across the windshield.

Sam Winchester

Dean.

Sam’s voice had gone flat. He was staring down at the glove compartment, which had popped open an inch on a recent bump.

Sam Winchester

Dad’s phone is buzzing.

It was a sound they both knew. A specific, jarring trill in the silence of the car. The phone of a man who’d been missing for weeks.