Highway to Hell: One Shots: "Catch the Horizon"
Highway to Hell : One Shots
Catch the Horizon (Don't You Wanna Take a Ride With Me)
Chapter Wordcount: 1732
Rating: PG
A/N: Subtitle from "Hey Pretty" by Poe. Me + late night drive = this. I went out for McDonald's and then decided to cruise around and went all poetic. I'm actually really proud of this one *smishes it*
He loves having a home…he really does. But a lifetime of wanderlust, asphalt and engines doesn’t die with the turn of a key.
Monte’s still awake, watching TV in the living room, the door to the garage open, letting the early summer breeze wash in.
Dean’s out in the garage, no real point really, just sort of misses his girl. He still drives her everyday, but little jaunts around town are hardly the same as letting her open on the highway. And their hunts once or twice a month do more harm than good when it comes to needing to feel the road.
The garage door is open and he just sort of stares outside, night black and quiet. The summer heat hasn’t really sunk in yet. Well, it has during the day at least, but not deep enough to bleed into the night and they’ve got the windows open in the house, just enjoying their little slice of silence.
Dean can hear the grass rustle across the street, grown up just a little too tall on the edge of the lake. The county crew will be by soon to chop it back down but for now it just whispers to him in the dark. Memories of acres of wheat fields and long stretches of cornfields and cow pastures coming back to him so swift and strong that he swears he can smell the grain and earth.
His hand trails over the black of the hood, fingers coming away clean from the freshly washed surface, he had scrubbed her down just yesterday, but his stomach does this crazy jump flutter thing when he realizes he kind of misses the golden glaze of road dirt.
The breeze dances by again, seeping though his t-shirt, swirling some leaves in the driveway and he can hear them scrape across the concrete.
He sees Monte turn around on the couch when he grabs the keys, jingle in his hand that sounds a lot like freedom but he doesn’t offer an explanation just gets into the Impala, breathes in clean leather and a hint of metal and fires her up, deep purr soothing him like the best kind of lullaby.
It’s risky, going out this late, the cops always like to lurk after midnight. But then again none of them in this little town have ever been able to catch him. Besides, once he’s past city limits the county troopers are few and far between.
He sees Monte lean against the doorframe, arms crossed as he backs out of the garage. He just sort of smirks at her and she smiles back and he knows she understands what he’s doing, she’s got the same itch to run he has. It’s like some sort of disease born from too many miles behind the wheel, too many hours under the hood. He doesn’t really want to be cured.
His life is ticked off by miles of the odometer and almost all of them have been in the Impala. Running like this, black steel under blacker sky, just sort of feels like coming home.
He’s got the windows down, radio silent, just listening to the rumble of the engine and he swears he can hear her ask permission to run. He leans back, muscles lax in the seat, feeling the crunch of broken asphalt and gravel under the tires and eases her out of town.
He stays at the stop sign just a moment longer than he really needs to, but he loves to hear the growl of the engine bounce off the tree line and come back to him.
He finally gets her out on the two-lane out of town, deserted stretch of yellow lines and he opens her up. Feels the pull of the engine, driveshaft spinning and the kiss of rubber against road. He’s got one hand on the wheel, easy sway as the two tons of pure Detroit steel float down the road, hum of wind in his ears.
It’s the times like this he feels like if he just pushed her a little harder there would be no way she wouldn’t be able to catch the horizon.
He pulls into an abandoned shopping center, foot barely grazing the brake as he makes the turn and throws her weight into a couple donuts in the empty parking lot, just to feel the slip-slide of power getting away from him, cutting him back down to size at the feel of her taking it out of his hands, thrilling rush of loosing control. Muscles instinctively tensing in time, thigh, stomach, shoulders, body immediately rolling with the motion of the car, keeping him centered.
The headlights cut into the dark and he’s feeling pretty relaxed and euphoric, breath coming in a hard soothing way when he hears the answering growl of an engine and sees the faint glow in the rearview.
Normally his eyes would be seeking out the blue strobe but he knows the rumble just as well as the growl under him.
Monte’s car shines yellow gold under the half moon as she pulls up next to him and smiles.
“You wanna go?” she asks and he grins.
She doesn’t ask if he’s okay because she knows he’s fine. Doesn’t ask if he’s ready to go home because she knows he’s not and she’s just as ready as he is to put her foot to the floorboard.
He can just see her, cruising her way out of town a few minutes after him. Deliberate hesitation making sure he had his own moment of peace before meeting up with him.
She smiles back and he listens to the purr of her car as she circles around behind him, letting him lead the way back to the highway.
He drives a couple miles down and stops dead, staring straight ahead as she pulls up beside him.
There’s a moment of night silence, rustle of the weeds in the fields around them, empty country stretched out in all directions and he lets the dual growl of the Chevy engines wash over him.
He smirks, muddled memory of little Sammy seeing Exxon’s old time tiger commercials. Remembers having to listen to him ask their Dad for a straight month if they had a tiger in their tank. If that’s why the Impala sounded so much meaner than the other cars on the road.
He chuckles to himself and looks over at Monte to see her looking at him with confusion and a smirk on her face.
He just shakes his head and smiles, turns back to the road, foot teasing the gas, feeling the car lurch, soft twist of the frame as the torque tears through the car. Purr of the engine revving up into a roar for a split second.
He smiles as Monte copies him, engine following his in a twisted harmony of metal and gasoline.
He’d take this song over classic rock any day.
They’ve done this before but he’s still not sure how she knows when exactly to push it, when to let her foot drop. Front end of her car rearing forward as the tires dig in, perfect timing with his own take off, chrome bumper even with her painted counterpart racing down the black road, headlights clicked on bright, burning the road in front of them.
When he finally glances down the red needle is hovering around a hundred even, steady crawl upwards as the engine whines, the carburetor opening up and dumping in more gas as she pushes to give him more.
Monte’s still right beside him, her own car screaming into the dark and he heaves in a breath, laughing just to be laughing and his head spins around as he hears the rubber of tires squeal as Monte slams the brakes.
He sees the nose of her car dive, steel and aluminum trying to come down from the speed. But she pulls back for just the split second it takes for him to pass her and then her car’s turning, rubber screeching as the weight rocks into the turn, the car bouncing as it goes over the edge of the road mowing over the weeds of the field next to them.
He can hear her laughing through their downed windows and their babies might not be 4x4s but he laughs right along with her and cuts his car to the right to follow her.
Their lights dance through the grass and they drive just for the hell of it, sliding their cars into the dirt just to feel them shift.
Their both laughing, loud carefree sound threading its way between the bass of the engines and the whisper of the grass as they cut through it.
He sees Monte hit a patch of sand, her back end sliding out from under her, swinging wild as a spray of grey dust flies out the back and clear up over the roof of her car.
He laughs, cutting the Impala back to circle around her, sudden splash of a mud puddle arching up the side.
It’s a twisted dance with eight wheels and some 600 odd mechanical horses and all Dean can think about is the cops that will come out in the morning and stare at the makeshift crop circles their gouging into the land.
He finally lets off the gas, roar falling from wide open to an idle as he lets the speed and weight of the car curl and swerve to a stop and Monte’s not too far behind, her fender coming to rest in his high beams.
He smiles at her through the windshield and she grins back, sweeps a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and eases her car back around his and up to the road.
The ride back home is quiet and easy, having gotten the need to run out of their system, they’re both content to just ride.
The pull into the garage at the same time, side by side like they’ve always been and Dean tosses his keys onto the tool bench when Monte unfolds herself from her seat.
There’s a gleam in her eye that he recognizes and he stalks forward, fisting his hand in her t-shirt to kiss her.
He swears he can taste the wind, smooth bite of metal and dust and really…this is all the home he’s ever needed.
Previous: Why Don't You and I
Highway to Hell Master Post
Catch the Horizon (Don't You Wanna Take a Ride With Me)
Chapter Wordcount: 1732
Rating: PG
A/N: Subtitle from "Hey Pretty" by Poe. Me + late night drive = this. I went out for McDonald's and then decided to cruise around and went all poetic. I'm actually really proud of this one *smishes it*
He loves having a home…he really does. But a lifetime of wanderlust, asphalt and engines doesn’t die with the turn of a key.
Monte’s still awake, watching TV in the living room, the door to the garage open, letting the early summer breeze wash in.
Dean’s out in the garage, no real point really, just sort of misses his girl. He still drives her everyday, but little jaunts around town are hardly the same as letting her open on the highway. And their hunts once or twice a month do more harm than good when it comes to needing to feel the road.
The garage door is open and he just sort of stares outside, night black and quiet. The summer heat hasn’t really sunk in yet. Well, it has during the day at least, but not deep enough to bleed into the night and they’ve got the windows open in the house, just enjoying their little slice of silence.
Dean can hear the grass rustle across the street, grown up just a little too tall on the edge of the lake. The county crew will be by soon to chop it back down but for now it just whispers to him in the dark. Memories of acres of wheat fields and long stretches of cornfields and cow pastures coming back to him so swift and strong that he swears he can smell the grain and earth.
His hand trails over the black of the hood, fingers coming away clean from the freshly washed surface, he had scrubbed her down just yesterday, but his stomach does this crazy jump flutter thing when he realizes he kind of misses the golden glaze of road dirt.
The breeze dances by again, seeping though his t-shirt, swirling some leaves in the driveway and he can hear them scrape across the concrete.
He sees Monte turn around on the couch when he grabs the keys, jingle in his hand that sounds a lot like freedom but he doesn’t offer an explanation just gets into the Impala, breathes in clean leather and a hint of metal and fires her up, deep purr soothing him like the best kind of lullaby.
It’s risky, going out this late, the cops always like to lurk after midnight. But then again none of them in this little town have ever been able to catch him. Besides, once he’s past city limits the county troopers are few and far between.
He sees Monte lean against the doorframe, arms crossed as he backs out of the garage. He just sort of smirks at her and she smiles back and he knows she understands what he’s doing, she’s got the same itch to run he has. It’s like some sort of disease born from too many miles behind the wheel, too many hours under the hood. He doesn’t really want to be cured.
His life is ticked off by miles of the odometer and almost all of them have been in the Impala. Running like this, black steel under blacker sky, just sort of feels like coming home.
He’s got the windows down, radio silent, just listening to the rumble of the engine and he swears he can hear her ask permission to run. He leans back, muscles lax in the seat, feeling the crunch of broken asphalt and gravel under the tires and eases her out of town.
He stays at the stop sign just a moment longer than he really needs to, but he loves to hear the growl of the engine bounce off the tree line and come back to him.
He finally gets her out on the two-lane out of town, deserted stretch of yellow lines and he opens her up. Feels the pull of the engine, driveshaft spinning and the kiss of rubber against road. He’s got one hand on the wheel, easy sway as the two tons of pure Detroit steel float down the road, hum of wind in his ears.
It’s the times like this he feels like if he just pushed her a little harder there would be no way she wouldn’t be able to catch the horizon.
He pulls into an abandoned shopping center, foot barely grazing the brake as he makes the turn and throws her weight into a couple donuts in the empty parking lot, just to feel the slip-slide of power getting away from him, cutting him back down to size at the feel of her taking it out of his hands, thrilling rush of loosing control. Muscles instinctively tensing in time, thigh, stomach, shoulders, body immediately rolling with the motion of the car, keeping him centered.
The headlights cut into the dark and he’s feeling pretty relaxed and euphoric, breath coming in a hard soothing way when he hears the answering growl of an engine and sees the faint glow in the rearview.
Normally his eyes would be seeking out the blue strobe but he knows the rumble just as well as the growl under him.
Monte’s car shines yellow gold under the half moon as she pulls up next to him and smiles.
“You wanna go?” she asks and he grins.
She doesn’t ask if he’s okay because she knows he’s fine. Doesn’t ask if he’s ready to go home because she knows he’s not and she’s just as ready as he is to put her foot to the floorboard.
He can just see her, cruising her way out of town a few minutes after him. Deliberate hesitation making sure he had his own moment of peace before meeting up with him.
She smiles back and he listens to the purr of her car as she circles around behind him, letting him lead the way back to the highway.
He drives a couple miles down and stops dead, staring straight ahead as she pulls up beside him.
There’s a moment of night silence, rustle of the weeds in the fields around them, empty country stretched out in all directions and he lets the dual growl of the Chevy engines wash over him.
He smirks, muddled memory of little Sammy seeing Exxon’s old time tiger commercials. Remembers having to listen to him ask their Dad for a straight month if they had a tiger in their tank. If that’s why the Impala sounded so much meaner than the other cars on the road.
He chuckles to himself and looks over at Monte to see her looking at him with confusion and a smirk on her face.
He just shakes his head and smiles, turns back to the road, foot teasing the gas, feeling the car lurch, soft twist of the frame as the torque tears through the car. Purr of the engine revving up into a roar for a split second.
He smiles as Monte copies him, engine following his in a twisted harmony of metal and gasoline.
He’d take this song over classic rock any day.
They’ve done this before but he’s still not sure how she knows when exactly to push it, when to let her foot drop. Front end of her car rearing forward as the tires dig in, perfect timing with his own take off, chrome bumper even with her painted counterpart racing down the black road, headlights clicked on bright, burning the road in front of them.
When he finally glances down the red needle is hovering around a hundred even, steady crawl upwards as the engine whines, the carburetor opening up and dumping in more gas as she pushes to give him more.
Monte’s still right beside him, her own car screaming into the dark and he heaves in a breath, laughing just to be laughing and his head spins around as he hears the rubber of tires squeal as Monte slams the brakes.
He sees the nose of her car dive, steel and aluminum trying to come down from the speed. But she pulls back for just the split second it takes for him to pass her and then her car’s turning, rubber screeching as the weight rocks into the turn, the car bouncing as it goes over the edge of the road mowing over the weeds of the field next to them.
He can hear her laughing through their downed windows and their babies might not be 4x4s but he laughs right along with her and cuts his car to the right to follow her.
Their lights dance through the grass and they drive just for the hell of it, sliding their cars into the dirt just to feel them shift.
Their both laughing, loud carefree sound threading its way between the bass of the engines and the whisper of the grass as they cut through it.
He sees Monte hit a patch of sand, her back end sliding out from under her, swinging wild as a spray of grey dust flies out the back and clear up over the roof of her car.
He laughs, cutting the Impala back to circle around her, sudden splash of a mud puddle arching up the side.
It’s a twisted dance with eight wheels and some 600 odd mechanical horses and all Dean can think about is the cops that will come out in the morning and stare at the makeshift crop circles their gouging into the land.
He finally lets off the gas, roar falling from wide open to an idle as he lets the speed and weight of the car curl and swerve to a stop and Monte’s not too far behind, her fender coming to rest in his high beams.
He smiles at her through the windshield and she grins back, sweeps a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and eases her car back around his and up to the road.
The ride back home is quiet and easy, having gotten the need to run out of their system, they’re both content to just ride.
The pull into the garage at the same time, side by side like they’ve always been and Dean tosses his keys onto the tool bench when Monte unfolds herself from her seat.
There’s a gleam in her eye that he recognizes and he stalks forward, fisting his hand in her t-shirt to kiss her.
He swears he can taste the wind, smooth bite of metal and dust and really…this is all the home he’s ever needed.
Previous: Why Don't You and I
Highway to Hell Master Post