Author's Note: Not sure what inspired this, but I hope you enjoy!

"You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere."

Christian Kane, "Fast Car"

They've always been running from something.

When they were younger it was CPS; it was John's drunken rages followed by dark depressions. It was the school teacher who would see the bruises on their arms and pull Sam aside and say, "If you're Daddy is hurting you, I can help." It was the scary creatures that Sam had to be shielded from while Dean was thrust headlong towards. As they got older, it was Sam that began to sprint, outpacing his brother by leaps and bounds. Sam, fighting for his chance at "normal" and pushing his father and brother way. Sam, with his secrets and his plans, and his vision for tomorrow. Yet, there's a difference between the two brothers—the eldest knows his place; knows that his life will be dedicated to the family business.

To that end, Dean's never run away.

By the time Sam finally leaves for Stanford, he's done it a record of ten times—all when John's been gone and Dean's on watch; all while Dean had been asleep. And sure, the elder Winchester tried his damn hardest to make it impossible for his little brother to escape whatever motel room or cheap rented house was serving as "home" but somehow, someway, Sam would get away.

Leaving Dean chasing after him.

Dean always caught him in the end, but that wasn't the point. The fact that his brother could just get up in the middle of the night—the most dangerous time and dammit, Sam knows that!—and just leave without so much as a word fractures Dean's heart. Bit by bit, the crack extends down until it finally snapped.

He never said anything when Sam announced his grand plans for Stanford. He regrets that now, but at the time, he saw it just as another way for Sam to run away. What made it different—what made it hurt more—was the finality of it. He knew the moment he saw the determination enter Sam's hazel eyes that despite whatever happened, his little brother would go.

"If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back."

It was a desperate attempt to stop Sam's race from being run and for the few seconds that his little brother's hand wavered above the doorknob, Dean thought it had worked.

Then Sam had opened the door and left.

He ran away to Stanford—to normal, to a life full of pretty girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, to white picket fences, to a world where ghosts weren't "real".

He left Dean behind.

Sam had finally sprinted so far off into the distance that Dean couldn't bring him back. That little boy that he had always been pulling on his sleeve to prevent him from getting too far ahead had finally broken free of his grasp and was now nothing more than a speck in the foreground of his life. Sure, it sucked—there wasn't a day that went by that he wished Sam were in the passenger seat with him—but hey, at least Stanford was safe. That was as much comfort as Dean could salvage from the situation.

So, Dean drives. He makes the dirt roads his home and lets the Impala carry him to whatever deadbeat town he needs to go next. He blasts his music and pretends like there isn't a void that is consuming, like he isn't constantly in pain. He was a hunter—hunters didn't show weakness.

Dean drives, but sometimes, he'll roll down the windows, turn down the music and close his eyes and waits.

C'mon, Dean! Let me pick the music!

What did I say, Sam? Driver picks music and shotgun—

I know, I know! But when I learn how to drive, I'll get to pick the music and you know what we'll be listening to?

What, Sammy?


Then, he'll open his eyes, take a deep breath, blast the music and drive.

They've always been running from something, he and Sam. But now, he wonders if they'll ever truly escape. After all, the memories still linger—the voices still echo in the wind—and they will always remain there. Nothing will change, not really.

Dean, let's race!


Cause I know I'm faster than you!

Sammy, I could run circles around you!

Oh yeah? Prove it! Catch me!

He spins the car around in a hasty U-turn. Maybe he was wrong; maybe running is the worst thing he could do. Stanford is 10 hours away, but he'll drive there because he needs Sam. They can run from a lot of things, but never each other.

"I'll catch you." He's not sure who he says it to—the memory, himself or Sam—but his mind is made up now. The Impala's engine roars and Dean coaxes her to move even faster.

No more running.

With a grin, Dean Winchester drives into the distance, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

Author's Note: Please review if you have a moment!