Going Down This Road

In my head, the love theme for Dean and the Impala happens to be Whitesnake. I'm beyond help. It's not very good, I should be asleep, or working on a paper but I've truly had too much to drink, and I watched some Supernatural thinking it would help me sleep…I'm so far beyond help. Ieriesal was so sure I'd respond to this prompt with some wincest, well…this will show you where expectations get you. Nowhere, that's where. I just…I have serious problems.

Here I go again on my own

Going down the only road I've ever known

Like a drifter I was born to walk alone

But I made up my mind

I'm not wasting no more time

-Whitesnake; Here I Go Again

He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, Dean was literally beside himself.

Outside of the motel, far away from Sam, Dean smoked through a pack of cigarettes; seemingly have developed a nervous habit away from his baby. He didn't know what to do without her, he worried about her—how could he know that she was okay?

They could be treating her badly, forgetting to wash and wax her…and she…

Baby was just hopeless without being driven. She needed to be taken out, shown off…

"She needs me," Dean mumbled under his breath, "Oh God…she needs me."

He glared at the grimy blue mustang, and felt tears behind his eyes.

"I'm not cheating on you baby, I swear. I don't have a choice. He made me. They all made me." Dean covered his mouth with his hand.

It was going to kill him.

If these leviathans didn't get to him first, he was going to die heartsick and alone.

"I'll come for you…" Dean felt a sob at the back of his throat. "I'll come for you, I promise."

On my dying breath…

"Dean?" Sam poked his head out of the motel room door, his eyebrows furrowed. "Dean, you're smoking again? You're not even—"

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean turned quickly towards his brother, brandishing a finger. "Just leave me…we're mourning."

Sam sighed, shaking his head and turning back toward the motel room. "Try and get some sleep, at least. We have an early check-out."

Dean growled in response, vaguely hearing Sam mutter about being a moody bitch, and sobbed. Then hiccupped.

Whiskey and grief, they always went hand in hand. He hiccupped again, and considered throwing up.

"I hate you." He looked the mustang over. "You'll never be half the…"

Dean sniffed, "You have nothing on her, you cheap whore."