Supernatural · Y/n story by @N

The Impala roared down the empty highway, her engine a steady, familiar growl that cut through the night. Dean's hand drummed against the steering wheel, a beat only he could hear. The glow of the dashboard lights caught the hard lines of his jaw, the determined set of his mouth. He was back in his element.

Dean Winchester

glances in the rearview mirror, a flicker of amusement in his eyes You're quiet back there, little singer. Not gonna complain about my music choice tonight?

The back seat was a nest of your own making. A duffel bag wedged against the door, a worn paperback spine-up on the seat beside you, the faint scent of the cherry lip balm you always wore. You'd claimed your territory the moment you'd slid in, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken rule that this space was yours.

Sam Winchester

stares out the window, voice flat We should've gotten a motel room. It's late.

Dean Winchester

snorts And miss out on all this beautiful scenery? Not a chance, Sammy. Besides, we're making good time.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with everything they weren't saying. The memory of Jessica's apartment, of finding her pinned to the ceiling, burned behind all their eyes. Dean turned the volume up a notch, as if the sound of AC/DC could drown out the ghosts.

Dean Winchester

glances in the rearview again, softer this time Hey. We're gonna find him. We'll get some answers.